


Holmes in the Commonwealth

by kaelma



Series: Holmes in the Commonwealth [1]
Category: Fallout 4, Sherlock Holmes - Arthur Conan Doyle
Genre: Crossover, Crossovers & Fandom Fusions, Developing Friendships, Diary/Journal, Gen, Originally Posted on Tumblr, POV First Person, Plot, Spoilers, keeping a journal as I play the game, tagged max affinity companions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-19
Updated: 2018-04-27
Packaged: 2019-03-21 07:53:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 27
Words: 44,831
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13736478
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kaelma/pseuds/kaelma
Summary: Being a transcription of the audio journal of Mr. Holmes, of the Commonwealth, in the year 2287.





	1. Waking Up

**Author's Note:**

> If you’ve ever wondered what would happen if Sherlock Holmes woke up in a post-apocalyptic wasteland in a 1950s retro sci-fi alternate universe, welcome! As I’m writing in response to what happens as I play, you can assume that eventually there will be a spoiler or three if you haven’t finished the game.
> 
> Given the game's plot and setting, this version of Holmes did his time in the military and returned to his previous occupation of being a detective. He had an American wife and son, and they were very happy until everything went to Hell. Apart from those details, I’m trying to keep him as close to the original character as possible.
> 
> I went with 'audio recordings' because I liked the idea of Holmes getting interrupted, of picking up background noises, and other atmospheric elements I could try to work in. It’s an experiment. Since he can play tapes on his Pip-Boy, I just added a recording functionality. Occasionally, it turns on by accident.
> 
> This was originally posted on Tumblr, and is ongoing! I plan on using ao3 for more side story plots and drabbles once the series here is caught up to the tumblr page. The original is at fallout4holmes.tumblr.com
> 
> Enjoy!

**Entry 1**

I’ve never been the sort of man to keep a journal before, but I need some way to express myself or I will go mad. Perhaps I have already. The world certainly has.

Two hundred years.

I can’t completely comprehend what has happened to me. I feel adrift in a nightmare, remnants of the world I knew now overgrown by an apocalyptic wonderland of monstrosities. Giant cockroaches, maggot-projecting bloatflies, mangy curs that could have once been wolves with all the ferocity of rabid beasts, even two headed cattle! Gigantic, scaled monsters that may as well be dinosaurs or dragons of myth bereft of wings, left to wander the wasteland of a planet I now find myself in. People decayed by radiation to the point of no longer being human, reduced to shambling skeletal terrors.

There are people, real people, still. At least I can take some small comfort in that, that I am not alone. Humanity somehow survived, though I am not convinced it was worth it. To live in a world like this… everyone I have met that hasn’t instantly tried to kill me grew up in this world. It is so alien to me.

The first thing I did after getting out of that damned Vault was to go home. Our personal robot Codsworth was still running, fine piece of machinery that he is. I was able to glean a sense of what had happened from him, and he helped me destroy some of this new world’s natural atrocities before suggesting I head south to Concord in search of other people. I found them, though not exactly in the way I had hoped.

A ragtag group was under siege in a national history museum, of all places. Raiders were firing upon them, and they were clearly outnumbered and outgunned. I managed to sneak inside and make my way past the raiders. I hadn’t killed anyone since the Army, but it was very much a matter of their life or mine. I adjusted. It came back easier than I wish it had. Once the raiders were eliminated inside the building, I found the group and was suddenly recruited to their cause. I couldn’t just leave them there, only one of them seemed capable of fighting worth a damn, and they would be slaughtered if the rest of the raiders couldn’t be scared off or killed.

The leader of the group, a man called Preston Garvey, sent me to the roof to find a suit of power armor - an older model, even by my standards, but more than sufficient. With it, and the help of a minigun, I managed to eliminate the raider threat.

Then the reptilian demon appeared. The aptly named ‘deathclaw’ is monstrous of size, and seemed nearly impervious to damage. Fortunately for me, this one was also rather stupid. I hid inside a shop, firing at it through a window. I was terrified for a moment that it would break down the wall, but the building held firm, and it couldn’t reach me. A creature possessed of anything resembling common sense or logical capability would realize its best tactic would be to retreat and wait for me to emerge, but this lizard from Hell persisted in trying to attack me, which made it a convenient target for me to pour bullets into. It took some time, but eventually the thing died, snarling and reaching for me even unto death.

I found Garvey and the others soon after. They asked me to come with them as they went north to a place they heard might be a good spot to set down roots. They want to build a home for their group of refugee settlers. The name of the place was Sanctuary.

How could I refuse?

And so it is that I am back in Sanctuary Hills. I am home, what remains of it, sitting on the floor of my son’s room, talking into the Pip-Boy I took off the wrist of a dead Vault-Tec scientist. The light is fading. I suppose I must sleep, but I believe I am afraid that I’ll wake up another hundred years later. Or perhaps I’m afraid that I’ll see her again, the image of her dead in that icebox, shot while our son was still in her arms -  
…  
…  
Why am I alive? Why didn’t I stay frozen, why didn’t my chamber’s life support fail like everyone else’s?  
…  
Why couldn’t I follow her?  
…  
…  
How long ago did they take my son? That madwoman, the addict who speaks of visions, said I should go to Diamond City to find him. Diamond City is apparently the ‘jewel of the Commonwealth,’ undoubtedly the people who took Shaun would have to pass through there eventually or do business with someone near there, this is not a hard thing to sell to a mark. I don’t know if he’s even alive. He could be old and grey for all I know, or the only thing I’ll find of him is a grave. I want to know what happened to him… but I can’t face it, either. Not now.

 

**Entry 2**

Garvey insists I call him Preston. He hasn’t asked me for my first name yet, or perhaps he assumes Holmes is my first name. It doesn’t matter, I suppose. Societal niceties are simultaneously a luxury of the past, and desperately necessary for any sense of civilization to survive. I always did have an old fashioned sense of these things, now even more so. So, I am Holmes, and he is Preston. So it goes.

He calls himself the last of the Minutemen, a band of people committed to making the Commonwealth a better place. It failed, rather spectacularly and with great tragedy. Still, he remains idealistic, committed to his dream of taking back the Commonwealth one piece at a time. I must admit, his optimism is disturbingly contagious. He wants me to help him recruit new members to his cause, to travel to other settlements that are undoubtedly worse off than this one in order to create some sense of order in this wilderness, and I can hardly believe I’m considering it. Then again, I never could stand being idle.

I’ve spent much of the day helping the settlers, well, settle. There is one called Sturges who seems a skilled engineer, and under his direction we’ve set up beds, built a water purifier, and started a rudimentary garden. All that remains is to build some basic defense measures to guard against raiders and wildlife.

While salvaging scrap around town, I discovered one of my former neighbors had been dealing drugs. I always had suspicions, but never any concrete proof. His chemistry station is intact, which could provide a welcome distraction. Garvey - no, Preston - does not approve of my smoking habit, though he hasn’t said anything specific about it. There’s a look he gives me sometimes… though given the potency of modern drugs, I can’t say that I blame him. At least I merely use tobacco, and the occasional mentat, rather than ‘jet’ or anything of that nature. I’ll have to be careful, all the same.

It has helped to keep busy. I feel myself adjusting to the world, even in the short time I’ve been here. I met a dog, a perfectly normal German Shepherd mix - perhaps not quite normal, given the amount of damage he can sustain - who apparently decided I am now his best friend. He must be some sort of police dog that lost its owner, he is far too well trained for a simple stray. I am thankful for the additional company, and protection, no matter where he came from.

Perhaps I’ll take Preston up on his offer after all. It would be good to be of use, and what else can I do? Wandering this world on the off chance I might find some trace of Shaun… damn. He was an infant, he wouldn’t recognize me if he saw me, nor would I recognize him. How do I even begin a search, asking if anyone recalls seeing some raiders carrying an infant ever in their lives?

No. Dwelling on this only makes reality harder to bear. I’ll find out what happened, someday, but now I need to focus on the present, to do some good for the people I can help. I won’t ever watch as someone innocent is killed again. If that door hadn’t been there, if I could somehow have broken the glass…  
...  
It wasn’t my fault. I have to believe that, it is the truth, I know it to be true, there was no way I could have stopped them. Yet, knowing it doesn’t stop the ache in my chest, the lingering guilt that I failed them somehow. I suppose that will never go away. Even if by some miracle I find my son, his mother’s voice crying out and the sound of a gunshot will forever haunt me.


	2. Generals and Brotherhoods

**Entry 3**

When I said I would help re-establish the Minutemen, I did not envision being called upon to lead the damn thing! I’m hardly a leader, I barely know anything about this world, and yet I am now apparently “General” of the Minutemen. It’s a hell of a promotion, and one for which I am entirely unqualified. Preston, however, will not be dissuaded. I detected a certain amount of glee in his eyes when he decided I was the leader. He said, “The one good thing about being the last of the Minutemen is there’s no one to argue with me when I say you’re the new General.” No one except me, but apparently my opinion doesn’t count for much.

I didn’t protest much at the time. Odd. His optimism is persistently contagious. All this talk of helping others, selfless action, protecting people… It is a mistake, expecting me to create some sort of noble organization out of a random assortment of desperate settlers, but only time will reveal that to Preston. He’s too desperate for something to hope in to see that it’s hopeless.

And yet, I am a man of my word. I said I would help, and so the dog and I are going to Tenpines Bluff to aid some settlers, despite my misgivings.

 

**Entry 4**

Tenpines Bluff is a settlement in that there are people who have settled in a single permanent location. There are two of them, brother and sister, and they have a shack and a field of crops, and a dilapidated ruin of a house nearby. There’s a well, a grill, and a cooking pit. That’s all. Two people with some modest agricultural skill and, one presumes, some cooking ability. To say I was underwhelmed would be putting it mildly.

They did indeed need help. “Trouble with raiders” they said. It didn’t take any great feat of deduction to see that was an understatement. I agreed to take care of the problem more out of indignation than anything else. I do not care for bullies.

The raiders were holed up in the Corvega Assembly Plant in Lexington. I made my way south immediately, the Dog following me. On the way, I picked up a radio call for support at a police station in Cambridge. It was a recorded message, I’ve no way to know if who sent it is still alive, but it bears investigating. My first responsibility, however, was to eliminate the raider threat for the settlers.

I was able to sneak through Lexington with minimal trouble, making my way into the plant through a long unused drain pipe. Through a judicious use of pistol and shotgun, and a few grenades, I managed to dispatch the raiders and obtain a few pieces of armor from a raider power suit in the process. The settlers were grateful, and I could return to Sanctuary to inform Preston. He still insists on calling me General. I suppose I’ll have to get used to it. There was a site for a potential settlement he wanted me to go to, but I… pulled rank, I suppose. As I made some modifications to the power armor suit, upgrading it with what I’d collected from the raiders, I told him about the distress signal in Cambridge.

He nodded, as if it was the most natural thing in the world. “If someone’s under siege, power armor will come in handy.” Then, without hesitation, he said, “I’ll be right behind you, General.”

I hadn’t actually asked for him to come, but I was glad to have him. As fond as I am of the dog, it will be refreshing to have someone I can properly communicate with.

 

**Entry 5**

Cambridge Police Station was under siege by a pack of feral ghouls. I’ve yet to meet one that maintains any semblance of former personhood, but Preston says they exist. Hence, the ‘feral’ designation. Of everything I’ve encountered so far, these creatures in particular strike me as having crawled straight out of a horror film, though they are the product of prolonged radiation sickness rather than the living dead… I digress.

The people who sent the distress call were members of an organization called the Brotherhood of Steel. They are led by a Paladin Danse. ‘Paladin’ is his rank, and he is accompanied by Knight Rhys, and Scribe Haylen. Rhys is not worth the time spent describing, but Scribe Haylen is intriguing. She doesn’t seem as devout a follower as her superior officers. I’m not sure why, yet. Danse, for his part, is every bit the righteous commander. Arrogantly confident, but undeniably capable in battle.

The Brotherhood is apparently dedicated to the eradication of threats to humanity, in particular the threats posed by another organization called The Institute. The Institute created machines called synths, which have the appearance and mannerisms of humans. They are impossible to differentiate from humans… which begs the question how one is supposed to hunt them.

Preston is supremely suspicious. Why are the Brotherhood all the way out here? He is convinced something doesn’t add up. I am inclined to agree with him. Nevertheless, the Paladin and his two remaining people needed our assistance, and so I gave it. With our help, Danse was able to retrieve a deep range transmitter from a nearby aviation and communications facility. The facility was swarming with humanoid robots, the Institute’s synths, though an older model rather than the ones who perfectly mimic humans. I still don’t know anything about the Institute, but synths at least are a confirmed reality, and deadly.

We got out, transmitter in hand, and considered the mission a success. Danse asked me to join the Brotherhood, after some veiled superiority claims regarding our performance. I have no desire to join a private army of manhunters reminiscent of the ancient Crusaders, and so I declined, as respectfully as I could, in no small part because the man was in superior power armor and holding a much more powerful weapon than I was. He seemed mildly surprised at my refusal, but bore it with no ill will, saying that should I ever decide to join, I was welcome.

Preston and I took our leave. There’s a settlement site he has his eyes on.

  


**Entry 6**

_(Preston’s voice is heard faintly - Holmes is recording as they walk.)_

Preston: General, if I ever turn into a feral ghoul, you have my permission to put two in my skull.

Holmes: I’ll keep that in mind. The feeling is mutual.

Preston: Noticed you’re pretty handy with a bobby pin.

Holmes: Yes.

Preston: Fun hobby?

Holmes: _(amused)_ It was an occupational skill.

Preston: … huh. Oh, sorry. I’ll head on up ahead.

…

Holmes: After setting up a settlement recruitment beacon in an old drive-in, Preston reported a ghoul problem in Oberland Station, another tiny settlement south of us. It’s an old railway check station, completely undefended. The ghouls were coming from College Square, to the northeast of the settlement. The matter itself was simple, if violent in its resolution. Preston and I managed to erect a few defensive measures around the station before we left. They should help deter raiders and any more feral ghouls that wander by. The settlers were grateful. We are headed north once again, for no particular reason on my part, simply a desire to keep moving. It… helps. Keeping occupied, even if simply walking, is better than nothing at all.

Preston has been talkative. Before I started recording this, he told me more about when the Minutemen fell, referring to himself as naive. Humans are human, after all, no matter what ideals they may hope to embody. Bickering egos and a few selfish mistakes can bring the world crashing down. Still, he’s here, hoping to make his mark, carrying on the mission he signed up for, even when there doesn’t seem to be any point. 

He thanked me for being different from everyone else he’s run across. ‘One of the good guys.’ It was encouraging to hear. At one time, it would even have been true. I always did my best to act on the side of human decency and justice, but here and now? I’m more lost than anything else, grasping at whatever I can find to make some sense of the world, but… it was good of him to say.


	3. Covenant

**Entry 7**

There is a settlement called Covenant. It is a small, picturesque group of houses surrounded by a large, well fortified wall. In order to get in, one must undergo a brief psychological exam. They are picky about the type of people they let inside. Preston wanted nothing to do with it, but I was curious, and we could use supplies. The people within are… friendly.

I cannot put into words the sincere unease I feel in this place. It’s so… pleasant. The town’s infrastructure is pristine. The houses look almost as if they were plucked right out of my time and dropped here. There are ten inhabitants, not including a so-called lemonade-selling Mr. Handy model robot, and a cat. 

My instinct that something is wrong was somewhat validated by the behavior of the lady who runs the general store. Mrs. Fitzgerald, or Penny, as she prefers, is perpetually on edge. “Covenant is the friendliest place in the whole Commonwealth,” she says, with far too much cheer. 

Another validating factor is the presence of a single mercenary in the village. ‘Honest Dan’ signed on with someone called Stockton to find his lost caravan. He found what’s left of it. Covenant was their last stop, so Dan has been trying to get whatever information he can about what might have attacked them, but hasn’t made any progress. He intends to find the survivors, if any. One potential survivor is Stockton’s daughter, Amelia. He offered to pay me half of what Stockton is paying him to help. The fact that he is offering half indicates that he in both sincere in his desire to have the truth found, and desperate for assistance.

For my part, he could have asked me to help him for free and I would have said yes. A kidnapped daughter from a caravan, in the middle of nowhere? A ‘perfect’ village, full of secrets? I wouldn’t miss this case for the world.

 

**Entry 8**

Preston and I found the remains of Stockton’s caravan on the road to the northeast of Covenant. They were likely ambushed; those who weren’t killed either got away, or were captured. A blood trail led back toward Covenant. The ‘lemonade’ found by a body only confirms our suspicions of foul play. Someone in town knows what happened to that caravan.

The local doctor and the Mayor proved to be dead ends. They alternate between insisting that Dan is simply trying to cause a commotion, or are dismissive. The local mechanic, a Miss McGovern, provided no solid evidence either, but was at least instrumental in revealing the town’s fear of synths. There’s a distinct reticence to discuss the very possibility of synths or the reality of the Institute in Covenant, but when I broached the subject to McGovern, she panicked, declaring that “they” promised none would get in. 

Who are “they?” 

I could coax no further information from her. Dan is becoming frustrated with the apparent lack of progress, but there is one more person I have yet to talk to. If local gossip is to be believed, Penny Fitzgerald is the primary source for local gossip. I’ll try to record the conversation this time, and see if this device has more potential use than simply keeping track of my thoughts.

 

**Entry 9**

(The voices are fainter, neither speaking directly into the device)

Holmes: Good afternoon, Penny.

Penny: Oh! _(flirting)_ If it isn’t my favorite customer.

Holmes: I had a few questions about the town, and I thought you would be the perfect person to ask.

Penny: What sort of questions?

Holmes: First, that test at the gate…

Penny: _(laughing a little)_ I hope Swanson didn’t give you a hard time. Between you and me, he takes his job a little too seriously.

Holmes: It is a rigorous screening process, to be sure.

Penny: Everyone that passes the test is welcome to visit, but we are particular on who can live here. And having a positive attitude is important to us.

Holmes: I can tell. _(said knowingly)_ I don’t suppose you’ve heard anything about a missing caravan?

Penny: _(instantly all gossip)_ You’ve been talking to Mr. Dan. I don’t know what he’s carrying on about. He’s just stirring the pot, if you ask me.

Holmes: He certainly has an attitude.

Penny: I know! He’s so smug.

Holmes: Why would he want to cause trouble, though?

Penny: Some people are just jealous when they see others leading a better life. And they’d like nothing better than to drag everyone down to their level. And Dan thinks he’s the one helping people! He wouldn’t know the first thing about making the Commonwealth a better, safer place.

Holmes: He should be thankful you let him in.

Penny: Instead he stomps around interrogating people! If the Compound did do something to his precious caravan, they had reasons for it. Better reasons than a man like him… … _(nervous)_ You know, honey, I was just shooting off at the mouth. Just forget anything I said about that. And the Compound. I have to go.

Holmes: Go? Penny? _(distant door closing)_

…

_(softly chuckling)_ Perfect. 

 

**Entry 10**

In my career, I have seen numerous examples of people’s fear overtaking their reason. Paranoia is to be expected in the aftermath of trauma. Yet when even the most basic understanding of morals is thrown to the wolves with the justification of “the greater good…”

It has long been an adage of mine that when a doctor goes wrong, he is the first of criminals. I would extend that sentiment to include all scientists within that definition, not just men and women of medicine.

_(sigh)_

I must begin where I left off.

Despite Preston being impressed with my skill at picking locks, he was surprisingly aghast at seeing me use that skill to get into someone’s home. I was amused, which might have annoyed him. It was for a just cause, as I gained the information I needed regarding the mysterious Compound Mrs. Fitzgerald mentioned. It’s fortunate the Mayor keeps his passwords written down. Though we were not certain of the Compound’s full purpose, we had a hint to its location, and that was enough. Preston, Dan, and I went out that night to search.

The Mayor met us at the gate. He tried to stop us, though refused to give us a straight answer to our questions, and even tried to bribe us to keep out of his town’s business. His efforts were not only unsuccessful, but emboldened us further. We had to know what sort of secret the town could be hiding that was so endangered by a few travelers knowing the truth.

The Compound is accessed through a subterranean section of a sewer entered through a door inside a pipe, located partially under water in the lake to the west of Covenant. Inside is an underground facility designed for the capture, torture, and dissection of those who are suspected to be synths. The head scientist is - was - a Dr. Chambers. She created the SAFE test that Covenant forces all its visitors to take. Covenant itself was but a front for her experiments, the citizens all people who suffered at the hands of Institute synths, who were now complicit in the destruction of any they found.

However, the test was not perfect. Twenty five percent of those who tested positive with the SAFE test turned out to be human instead. One out of four people taken by the Compound, physically and psychologically tortured and killed, were human. _(tightly restrained anger)_ Even if it were a mere one out of a hundred, out of a thousand, it would be too many. Chambers tried to reason, explain the war she was fighting, the paranoia she would solve with the discovery of a way to detect the undetectable. She offered to pay for the life of Stockton’s daughter. Amelia cried out from her cell, begging to be released, terrified. It was a deal I could never accept, under any circumstances. As Preston said, “The ends never justify the means.”

Honest Dan proved true to his moniker, lending his gun to the fight through the Compound. He paid me what he promised, even though it was hardly required of him to do so. He took Amelia out of that horrible place. I hope she made it home, human or not.

I naively thought that perhaps with the head of the project gone, the settlers might be reasoned with somewhat, their isolationism exposed for the paranoia it was, but... ... 

Preston: _(distant)_ It wasn’t your fault they attacked us, General.

Holmes: Don’t be sycophantic, Preston, of course it was. We could easily have avoided the place.

Preston: Then someone else would have picked up where Chambers left off. That doctor was part of the Compound before they sent her over to the town. She could easily have started the project over. They attacked us, we defended ourselves.

Holmes: This whole world is a mess.

Preston: Can’t argue with you there. _(closer now)_ Look, I know I put you in an impossible position, asking you to take over the Minutemen. I had no right to ask, but… well, I was desperate. I know it’s not something you think you should be doing, and you don’t expect much to happen from it. But, I wanted you to know, that even if you don’t believe in our cause, you’re exactly the kind of person the Minutemen need to lead them. You’ve got a lot of compassion, even if you don’t show it. We need that. The Commonwealth needs that. So, thanks.

Holmes: ‘Compassion’ is not a trait most people have ever associated with me.

Preston: _(chuckles)_ I don’t doubt it. You’re… well, you can be kind of hard to read sometimes.

_(Holmes softly laughs.)_


	4. Welcome to the Brotherhood

**Entry 11**

The walk back to Sanctuary has given me a great deal of time to think. Now that I’ve had my first encounter with what very well could have been a synth, I find myself wondering more about the Brotherhood of Steel and their purpose. She was perfectly human to all appearances. There is no way to tell the difference without doubt… and, ultimately, does it matter? If a machine has all the thoughts and feelings of a person, if it doesn’t even know that it isn't a person, then what is the difference between it and the person? Does it have a soul? These days, I wonder if any of us do. She was frightened, and had suffered, that much is certain, and that was enough.

Preston will not like my idea for learning more about the Brotherhood. I’ll have to order him to stay in Sanctuary, or help at one of the other settlements while I go… undercover, as it were. Paladin Danse did say I was welcome to join at any time, after all.

 

**Entry 12**

If Danse was surprised to see me, he didn’t show it. Nor did he mention my lack of power armor, which I left behind in Sanctuary as taking it would have worried Preston. I never did care for the damn things anyway; their benefits in battle cannot be understated, but they interfere with stealth work. Danse welcomed me to the fight for the future of mankind with typical military efficiency and told me to report to either Scribe Haylen or Knight Rhys.

Haylen apologized for Rhys’s dismissive attitude, assuring me that he is a devout soldier to the cause who has no time for anyone who might be less devoted than he is. As for Haylen, she seemed happy to see a new face, and a helping hand, no matter who it was from. The Scribes seem to be the technical wizards of the Brotherhood, the scientists that study the technology the Brotherhood retrieves and try to find ways to use it for the betterment of mankind… and the betterment of the Brotherhood. For my first assignment as an Initiate to the order, she told me to retrieve something called a haptic drive from a shipping fleet lockup to the northwest. I’m unaccustomed to fetching things for others who are perfectly capable of it themselves, but if it puts me in her good graces, and by extension earns Danse’s favor, then so be it.

Naturally, nothing in this world is ever straight forward. I came across a farm on my way to the shipping fleet. It is run by the Abernathy family; Blake, his wife Connie, and their daughter Lucy. Their second daughter, Mary, was killed by raiders. Mr. Abernathy asked me to retrieve her locket from the raiders, a family heirloom and a memory. The raiders were camped inside a nearby Air Force satellite station. I was glad to have brought the Dog with me, as one of the raiders carried a minigun. The ability to fire a destructive amount of bullets is rendered somewhat less effective by a large canine surprising you from behind.

I’ve been told the dog is properly named ‘Dogmeat.’ Apparently Preston recognized him, as did “Mama” Murphy, the drug addict who claims to have the Sight. I can’t bring myself to call a useful creature the same name as a potential plate of food.

I digress.

The locket was retrieved, the Abernathy’s grateful, and even pledged their support to the Minutemen, which will make Preston happy. I continued to the shipping fleet, and found feral ghouls in addition to Haylen’s haptic drive. The Wicked Shipping Fleet was apparently engaged in some sort of shady dealings before the War, though I don’t know what sort. It doesn’t matter now, all parties involved are long gone. I returned to the Abernathy farm to spend the evening, assisted in building some rudimentary defenses ‘compliments of the Minutemen’ and took advantage of their hospitality. They’re all asleep inside now, giving me the chance to record this on their porch.

I’ll leave first thing in the morning to return to the Cambridge Police Station and give Haylen her gadget. I haven’t the slightest inclination to work with Sir Rhys. The only reason I’m doing this in the first place is to gain more information about a potentially powerful entity in this strange new world I now live in.


	5. Recon

**Entry 13**

Danse’s recon team isn’t the first to be sent to the Commonwealth. Three years ago, another team was sent, and never heard from again. They are presumed dead, but no one knows what happened. Danse asked me to find out. I don’t know that I was his first choice to send, but he didn’t have the manpower to send anyone else and this was clearly a question he wanted answered. There wasn’t much to go on, merely that the team’s insertion point was in Malden. I’ve solved cases with less before, though, granted, not many. They were equipped with distress beacons, and assuming they were still operational, I could pick up a signal on the radio.

The first location I found was a building that had been torn apart by an explosion. The recon team’s suits of power armor remained, scuttled, the damage deliberate. The high yield detonation suggested that they set the fusion cores in their armor to overload. There was one body, that of Knight Varham, according to his dog tags. The holotape on his person confirmed my theory, though I still don’t know what force outnumbered them five to one. I suppose ultimately it doesn’t matter.

The next signal came from the National Training Yard. Knight Astlin, hidden behind a desk in the recruitment office, tried to fend off a pack of feral ghouls by herself. She failed. The final member was at the Revere satellite array. It was crawling with the hulking green humanoid monsters that call themselves super mutants. What they lack in intelligence, they make up for in brutality. Through considerable speed and stealth under cover of nightfall, I was able to find the distress beacon, and with it, Scribe Faris of the missing recon team. Faris must have come to the array in the hopes of using it to send for help. He didn’t get the chance, or it didn’t work. I didn’t have time for a proper search, merely to grab his tags, holotape, and run. I believe I may have broken my leg in the escape. Whoever invented the first stimpak is a saint, though I shudder to think what all this repeated trauma and rapid healing is doing to my skeleton.

The holotapes all mentioned a Paladin Brandis. There is a bunker ‘up north.’ If the Paladin was still alive, that was where he went. I found the bunker. Brandis is alive, inside. He’s been alone for three years, living in fear, paranoid. He was thankful to finally know what happened to his team, but resisted all my efforts to get him to leave that place. He insisted that he cannot go back to the Brotherhood, that he would be useless. I left the broken man to his fate, alone in the wilderness, and reported to Danse.

Danse was not surprised to hear the team was dead, but he was disappointed, and perhaps sad, that Brandis could not be persuaded to come back. He respectfully thanked me for my efforts, and seemed somewhat embarrassed he couldn’t give much in return. It was a reminder of his team’s own precarious position.

Now it is late, and I sit on the steps to the station to record this. Danse is on watch; the man seems never to sleep, or sleep very rarely at least. I can’t imagine him alone in a bunker, driven near mad from paranoia… though I should hardly make comparisons. What is it about this place that wears on one so strongly? I have a distinct impression that the Brotherhood were woefully unprepared for what they found here. Was it arrogance? Or are things simply so much worse here than in the rest of the country? People like Preston claim to want to take back the Commonwealth, bring some good to it, while Danse speaks of saving humanity itself, though Minutemen and Brotherhood have wildly different approaches. Neither seems to have worked.

 

**Entry 14**

I gave the dog quite a scare last night. I woke to his barking and whimpering, staring at me. I must have cried out during The Nightmare and startled him. The Nightmare. Why do I hear myself turning such a simple phrase, a mere description, into a proper noun?

_(sighs)_ Don’t try to fool yourself, Holmes. It will always be The Nightmare, because there are none others. All else pales in comparison.

What am I doing? Going from settlement to settlement, relieving small bits of discomfort, a temporary solution to people’s most immediate trouble while leaving them to wallow in a world that is little better than a living Hell. I don’t belong here. I belong in an icy room, a bullet in my skull.

Gah! _(dog panting and licking noises)_ Get off, boy. _(chuckles)_ You are too intelligent, aren’t you, my four legged friend?

_(deep breath)_ Well. At least one being in this world might miss my absence, so perhaps it’s not all for naught. I’m… being unfair to myself.

When I woke last night, I started walking, not even paying attention to where I walked, just to have the night air in my lungs and try to gain some control of my mind again. It is foolish, wandering at night, but I couldn’t stay in that compound with those medieval soldiers in power armor. Now I sit beneath a tree with a cigarette, and find the sun is rising. Another day over the wasteland, this…  
…  
…   
…  
…  
The sunrise looks the same.  
…  
…  
Damn, how long… well, that’s a wasted tape. Come on, boy. Let’s go for a walk.


	6. Goodneighbor

**Entry 15**

The next time I say “Let’s go for a walk,” I sincerely hope the dog bites me. Our “walk” led through Cambridge, which has apparently become a battleground between raiders and the green-skinned mutants that would love nothing more than to eat them. Both parties are inordinately fond of fighting anything that moves. It was only through stealth and maneuvering the two against each other that I managed to get out, as well as a perhaps overzealous use of Molotov cocktails.

Of course, getting out did not result in going back the way I came. I was on a bridge, and given the trouble I went through to blow up the turret guarding it, I thought it only fitting I see where it led. It led to more raiders, naturally. My dog was better than theirs.

Hope of civilization reached my ears in the unlikely form of an old fashioned radio show, a crime fighting drama no less. I haven’t the slightest idea where it broadcasts from, but at least it signifies that there is some sort of settlement nearby.

There must be something wrong with me. I should have turned back as soon as I saw the trouble I was walking into instead of pushing through it. Risking my life to prove I can survive? That I should survive? It was a strange catharsis, I must admit.

And now I am in Boston. Preston is no doubt wondering where his General has disappeared to. He’ll have to wonder a little more. I’m not ready to go back, yet. Perhaps I’m running from… responsibilities? No. Memories. In the past, my wife would always worry when I had nothing to engage me. I would get into these “black moods” as she called them. Survival isn’t enough, I need something more. Something to make this world worth existing in.

 

**Entry 16**

As I made my way through Boston past its mutants, raiders, ghouls, and mutated urban wildlife, I discovered the small city-within-a-city of Goodneighbor. Perhaps ‘discovered’ is the wrong word, as the town is hardly hidden. Though surrounded by strong walls that keep its presence secure and easily overlooked, near the door is a giant neon sign, complete with arrow. I admit, my curiosity was primarily drawn by wondering who in their right mind would use such a garish shade to alert people to their presence.

Inside was a “guard” of sorts. It was a typical extortion set up, intimidate the newcomer to enforce superiority and/or make him leave, take his possessions through violence if not handed over. I do not intimidate easily, and was starting to look forward to the oncoming fight just to eliminate that smile from his face, when a… startling figure stopped us.

It was a ghoul, dressed in a tricorn hat and eighteenth century style coat. It was immediately clear “Mayor Hancock” is the man in charge, and scolded the thug for not welcoming me with open arms. I hardly expected such. My opponent protested, which I initially thought understandable, given how I had snuck or fought past raiders to an unlocked, unguarded door with a neon arrow pointing to it, but something in his wording made it clear he wasn’t worried about the people on his doorstep. It was the same sort of wariness about outsiders I heard in Covenant, a fear of infiltration by “them.”

A thinly veiled threat to Hancock’s authority was made. Hancock stabbed him three times, and sighed almost apologetically as the body hit the ground. He asked if I was alright, apologized for the trouble, and welcomed me to Goodneighbor, “a city by the people, for the people.” A place for people with nowhere else to go to call home. My initial impression thus far has been less than favorable. At least now I can say I finally met one of those mentally intact ghouls Preston told me about.

Another runs the supply shop, Daisy’s Discounts. Daisy is charming in an odd way. She seemed impressed, or at least amused, that I didn’t run away screaming at the sight of her. There was no need to mention that after seeing her Mayor in action, I was far from disturbed by a woman in a business suit cleaning a counter, even if she does look dead. The weapons shop next door is run by KL-E-O, a vaguely humanoid robot with a macabre intelligence. It thinks it’s a woman. This is, somehow, bizarrely fitting.

…

There is an establishment called The Memory Den. The madam of the house is a human called Irma, and she is assisted by a Dr. Amari. Inside, one may purchase the use of a chair which will enable the user to relive a memory. For a good memory, this can be quite engaging, and a unique if perhaps extreme method of escape. Or so I’m told.

The idea was of course intriguing, and so I tried it, no specific memory in mind, but simply to experience a flash of home, a moment before everything went to Hell. As the dome closed around me, trapping me inside the chair, I had a sickening moment of panic. I doubt I will ever deal well with that feeling of being trapped behind glass again. My panic doubled when I heard the proprietor casually order, “Just look for the strongest memory.”

I knew exactly what the strongest memory in my mind would be.

And it was. Oh, God, it was. The Nightmare, that damned Vault, watching two figures come for my child… but I could move. The machine somehow enabled me to view the memory from another angle, to move within it as if I were not trapped. I watched in horror as they pulled my son from his mother’s arms, shooting her when she refused to let go. 

I saw her murderer’s face.

The memory ended, Irma helping me out of the chair, trying to be consoling as she apologized. Of course she could have no idea. All I wanted was to be rid of that place, but she said something then that gave me pause; “What you need is a detective.”

I very nearly laughed.

She continued, recommending a Nick Valentine in Diamond City. “He’s the best.” We’ll see.

At any rate, I was in no mood to go anywhere except out of there. A cigarette helped to calm my nerves, as did the spectacle unfolding in the square. Hancock was speaking to his people.

He stood on the balcony of the state building as the residents of Goodneighbor gathered. He gave a little speech about the Institute as the root of all evil - an odd juxtaposition considering the time I spent with another group who thinks the same thing - and managed to end on a self-aggrandizing note, to no surprise. The crowd cheered, dispersed, and I decided I needed a stiff drink.

The Third Rail is as close a thing to an old mobster lounge as one could expect to find in a town populated by ghouls, criminals, and outcasts. At least the singer is talented. I was somewhat surprised, and increasingly annoyed, to find everyone assuming I was a gun for hire. I’ve frequented worse establishments, but each of those times it was for the purpose of a specific case and I was actively trying to appear tough. Tonight, I simply walked in, and the first thought in everyone’s mind was “that wanderer is clearly looking for violent and dangerous work.” Even the bartending robot, whose approximation of an accent I won’t dwell on, offered a “clean up job,” funded by Mayor Hancock no less. I have never had any interest in political maneuvering, especially not when it involves murder. I hurriedly finished my drink, and got out.

As much as I would have loved to leave this place, I needed to sleep. The hotel, by the definition that it is a building with rooms for rent, was cheap. I found a familiar… hat and coat, staying here.

It was the Vault Tec salesman who put us in that place. They wouldn’t let him into the Vault. He survived, and has spent the last 200 years as a ghoul, trying to get by. He knew nothing of the cryogenic units. He seemed somewhat jealous, that I made it to the future as if nothing had happened. I didn’t feel like telling him why he shouldn’t be. I can’t imagine what actually living for 200 years would do to a person. He was lonely - apparently only Daisy is his age. No one else understands. I told him he could stay in Sanctuary. I’m not sure why, it just… seemed the thing to do. 

_(chuckles)_ Won’t Preston be surprised?

And so I sit in this hotel room. I don’t know what I’m going to do next. Perhaps I’ll try to find that detective. Diamond City.

Mama Murphy said I should go there, practically the first words out of her mouth when we met. That’s almost enough to make me not want to go.

I’m tired. I’m not making sense. I’ll think it over in the morning.


	7. The Silver Shroud

**Entry 17**

I went back to the Memory Den, hoping for some more information on this Nick Valentine. Irma was with a customer, and while I waited, I noticed a side room with an open door. A ghoul sat at a desk with some radio equipment. I’d found the source of the broadcast I picked up upon entering Boston.

His name is Kent Connolly, and he sees himself as trying to make a difference with memories of old time heroes. He has plans to bring the pulp mystery figure The Silver Shroud to life, intending to give a little hope to his town. It is a pretty idea, utterly naive, but harmless… until he said he needed the original costume.

I have never understood how a person can become so completely enamored with a fictional character that they let it permeate every part of their life, but he clearly has. Well, who was I to argue. It was a small act of kindness, and it was a distraction that got me out of Goodneighbor for a moment. I sincerely doubted much trouble would be found in a comics shop. I was of course wrong.

The place was crawling with ghouls, of the feral variety. Many bullets and a few missiles later, and the costume was in my possession, as well as some other paraphernalia I thought Kent would appreciate. Kent was thrilled. He is convinced that with that costume he can make some small bit of difference, at least in his tiny corner of the world.

I say “he” can. In reality, he’s perfectly aware of the fact that he is not a classically heroic figure. He considers himself to be sidekick material. This is accurate. Unfortunately, it does leave him with the conundrum of who will play the part of his hero, the Silver Shroud. No one would help him, after all… until I came along.

I resisted, of course, but then he said, “The whole world’s fallen. Fallen hard. We got to fight to make the place better.” The whole world has indeed fallen. Perhaps memories are all that’s left to fight for. It is a nostalgic, ridiculous idea, born of desperation for something better, but… I suppose there can’t be any harm in trying.

_(sigh)_ And so, it seems I get to be the Shroud.

 

**Entry 18**

Kent’s first target was Wayne Delancy, murderer. He killed a woman and her child in cold blood. I found him behind the hotel, and, feeling utterly ridiculous, quoted a few over-the-top lines for the character which in turn earned me nothing but a confession and gunfire. At least now there’s one less murderer in Goodneighbor.

I always considered myself an agent of justice, not vengeance. Those lines become more and more blurred in a world where prisons don’t exist and justice is enacted through the barrel of a gun. Why would anyone live in a place like this?

Then again, what choice do they have? Outside of Boston is practically the wild west. Inside, it’s a constant gang war. This pocket of something akin to civilization at least has the reassurance that if you die, it’ll be at the hands of a common criminal instead of a mutated creature trying to eat you. If Hancock’s speeches are to be believed, it’s also the only place the people here could go, a dangerous safe-haven for freedom.

It’s a high price to pay for being free.

 

**Entry 19**

Our next target was a drug - “chems” - dealer called A.J. ‘Our’ target. Hm.

Well. This A.J. was an idiot, but an unfortunately successful enough businessman to have employed two armed guards. He was pleased with his idea to market a whole line of addictive substances specifically designed for children. He isn’t anymore. He isn’t anything, anymore.

_(tightly controlled anger)_ Children. How could Hancock permit such a thing? I don’t doubt for an instant that he knows every illegal activity that happens in his town, he wouldn’t still be Mayor if he didn’t. Are the people here so blind, so numb, or do they honestly just not care? A town “of the people, for the people” (scoffs) What good is freedom if human decency is thrown out the back door? I don’t begrudge a man or woman simply trying to survive. God knows I’ve twisted, or completely ignored, the law on a number of occasions when it seemed justice would be better served. Theft, murder in defense of oneself or loved ones, I’ve turned a blind eye to both. I’ve used the dregs of society for information for ages, and some of them have been some of the best people I’ve known. Some have been the worst. But there are lines that cannot - must not - be crossed.

And now there’s someone to see this world’s version of justice done.

 

**Entry 20**

An assassin without concern for collateral damage was spotted in the Third Rail. The Shroud learned from the bartending robot that she was staying in the Water Street Apartments, along with a crew of mercenaries. The costume sits easier on my shoulders, now. I’ve warmed to the character… and, God help me, I’m enjoying myself. I always did have a flair for the dramatic.

Well, Kendra and her cohorts won’t be causing any more destruction in Goodneighbor, or anywhere in the Commonwealth anymore. She said something before the fight, something to the effect of having no idea who I was dealing with, comparing me to a bug in a spider’s web. _(amused)_ It wouldn’t be the first time.

For now, I have a more pressing concern. Kent reported that Mayor Hancock wants to meet The Silver Shroud. I wonder if his dedication to the idea of complete freedom extends to costumed vigilantes. I’ll soon find out. It may be worth recording his reaction.

 

**Entry 21**

Hancock: Guess what someone tells me? Some costumed freak is operating in Goodneighbor. And the kicker is it ain’t me. How should I feel about this?

Holmes: _(as the Shroud)_ This neighborhood is ill. I am the cure.

Hancock: _(amused)_ You’re priceless. Like the Silver Shroud himself walked out of a comic book into my den. Just priceless. You’ve been busy scaring people. Bashing in a few faces. I respect that. So far. But I gotta ask, one freak to another, why the get up?

Holmes: Many have sought to pierce the Shroud, to no avail.

Hancock: _(appreciative)_ You just don’t stop. Stay you, pal. _(serious)_ The low-lives you took out all belong to the same asshole. And that asshole’s planning some old-fashioned revenge on you. You dig? Fortunate for you, I want Sinjin to take a dirt nap. He’s taken two-bit raider outfits and made them… scary. Small fish now, but if left alone…

Holmes: What do you know about him?

Hancock: Leveled some farms. Napalmed his own men to end a couple enemies. But besides his dark deeds, nobody knows nothing. If he ain’t dealt with now, in a couple years it may take an army to end him.

Holmes: He will be judged for his crimes.

Hancock: Trust me, he needs a lot of judging. Got a lead on two of his own: Smiling Kate and Northy. Smiley is gathering a posse to take you out. _(darkly amused)_ And Northy is just running scared. Hired himself some goons and is holding up in Prospect. Just keep piling those body bags up until you find the location of the big guy himself.

Holmes: Sinjin thinks he’s above judgment, but no one is safe from the Silver Shroud.

Hancock: _(friendly)_ Don’t get killed. You deal with Sinjin, and I’m inclined to show you some gratitude. You feel me?

Holmes: _(chuckles, footsteps, door closing)_

…

_(regular voice, quiet)_ You’ve done it now, Holmes.

  


**Entry 22**

Smiling Kate was a madwoman heading a crew of thugs, and Northy a coward hiding behind mercenaries in the remains of an old building. The place was missing a wall. I can’t deny the sheer brute strength of Sinjin’s forces, but they do lack for intelligence. Smiling Kate was a challenge, simply due to the enthusiasm of her attacks, but fell like all the rest. Northy’s men were the same as every other raider, deadly but unobservant. The hand of justice has…

… _(clears throat)_ Well, what have we here? Were you listening to a message when I attacked, Mr. North?

_(Message plays distantly. Shuffling noises as Holmes continues to search the area)_

Holotape: Kendra and Delancy are six feet under.

Holmes: I doubt it, unless someone paid for their burials.

Holotape: Sinjin wants you to keep up the recruiting efforts. We need more warm bodies after we deal with the costume.

Holmes: At least the safe is promising.

Holotape: And don’t worry, Kate’s gathering a bunch of meatheads to take the Shroud out. The boss ain’t happy.

Holmes: _(muttering)_ I’m certain he’s not… ah, perfect. _(creak of a safe opening)_

Holotape: He’s getting personally involved. He’s gonna pay the Shroud’s flunky friend a “special” visit in Goodneighbor. _(something drops to the floor)_ After he’s done with that, he’ll check in. He’ll expect results.

Holmes: _(a trace of fear)_ Kent. The Memory Den.

_(running)_ I have to hurry.

_(sounds of running persist for some time. Holmes has forgotten he was recording.)_

_(a door slams)_

Irma: _(panicked)_ It’s you! Oh sugar, I told Kent all that hero stuff was going to get you both killed!

Holmes: Calm down, Irma. Take a deep breath and tell me what’s happened.

Irma: _(takes a breath)_ I’m sorry. I tried to stop them. One angry Raider is easy to distract, but a dozen of ‘em… When they took him they… they left you a message. Just listen to Kent’s radio station. It keeps playing it over and over again.

_(footsteps, the click of a radio dial)_

Kent: Here’s a Silver Shroud update. In case you missed it, Kendra’s reign of terror is over. She won’t be… Wh-What? Oh god, what’s happening?

Raider: On your knees, dirtbag.

Kent: Wh-What are you doing? Wh… errg…

Raider: Sinjin, all clear.

Sinjin: This is the Shroud’s headquarters? So you must be the Silver Shroud’s little friend. _(Kent makes a “yes” sound while something is in his mouth)_ If you want to see your friend alive, Shroud, meet me at Milton General Hospital.

Kent: _(struggles)_ Don’t do it, Shroud, it’s a trap. Save yourself! _(gunshot)_ Oww, oww, oww! Oh my god, do it, Shroud. Do it. My knee! Ahh!

Holmes: Damn it! _(softens)_ Don’t worry, Irma, I’ll bring him back. It’s time for this to end.

  


**Entry 23**

_(softly spoken)_ I don’t know if I’ll be able to get Kent out. I’ve made it this far, but Sinjin has the upper hand. What happens when I step out of that elevator… I’ll let this record. At least if someone finds my body, they’ll have some idea of what happened here. And if I do manage to get out alive… I suppose it depends on how it all turns out.

_(takes a deep breath)_

_(soft hum of the elevator)_

The Silver Shroud got me into this, perhaps he can get me out.

_(elevator ding)_

Kent: _(in pain)_ Please… make it stop…

Sinjin: Oh, your friend’s arrived, Kent. Do you mind if call you Kent? Here’s the thing about cops and robbers. The bad guys always win. You see, the good guy has too many things he cares about. Family. Friends. Little school kids. Maybe some morals. Whereas a bad guy, he just wants the fucking money. So what happens when you start taking apart the bad guy’s empire. When you start ripping him off. When you start making a fool of him, Kent. Then you got someone that will stop at absolutely nothing to take back what’s his. Hold, assholes. Anyone turns heel and I’m coming for you and your family. And you, Shroud, you step any closer and we get to see what’s inside Kent’s head.

The Shroud: You shield yourself behind an innocent. You are craven, Sinjin. And you shall fall before me.

Sinjin: Don’t talk to me like that. Some of these losers think you’re some sort of legend. Like you walked straight out of a comic book. But you and I know, you’re human. And you’re weak. You came here and for what? Your little sidekick?

The Shroud: I have cut a path through all your thugs. _(almost coy)_ Who can truly say I’m not the Shroud?

Sinjin: _(starting to get angry)_ Don’t listen, men. He’s a phoney. So what’s going to happen is this. I’m going to kill Kent. Then we’re going to shoot the hell out of you. Nothing’s going to be left but paste. Then I’m going to Goodneighbor and kill every last worthless bastard there. And burn the whole thing down. No one screws with Sinjin.

The Shroud: I am the instrument of justice and I cannot fall. Death has come for you, evildoer. _(dramatic crescendo)_ And I… am its Shroud!

Sinjin: _(annoyed, freaked out)_ Stop talking like that!

Henchmen: _(panicked)_ It is the Shroud. It really is. Screw this!

Sinjin: _(suddenly pissed off)_ Cowards!

_(series of quick gunshots)_

…

Holmes: I’m glad I got here in time.

Kent: You and me both, Shroud. I thought I was done for, for sure.

Holmes: Are you alright?

Kent: My leg is killing me. But it could’ve been so much worse. I just give up. On all of it. Crime-fighting just isn’t what I thought it’d be.

Holmes: _(skeptical, surprised)_ After all this, you’re just giving up?

Kent: I knew it was bad out there… but this. I don’t even think the Silver Shroud himself could fix this disaster area.

Holmes: If you quit fighting for justice, then the villains have already won.

Kent: You… You’re right. But I’m tired. I just want to go home.

Holmes: Of course. Let’s go.

  


**Entry 24**

Hancock was pleased to hear of Sinjin’s demise, and I suspect will eternally be amused at the method by which his town became just a bit safer. Kent is recovering from his ordeal. The Mayor was surprisingly comforting - no, that’s not the word. Encouraging? Whatever adjective best describes the sensation one has when being told you were an idiot, but you did it bravely and performed well. I don’t doubt he’d be happy to never see the Silver Shroud again, despite his enjoyment of talking to a comic book character.

As for Kent, he’s decided to keep fighting, in his own small way. He wants to keep working on the costume, improving it as much as he can, just in case I need it again. He said something about armor plating, I think. Though he has no intention of fighting crime, he knows I will be, though I doubt I’ll be wearing a costume while I do it. Still, it makes him feel useful, and who knows? Perhaps his tinkering will result in something functional.

I’ll keep in contact with Mr. Connolly. The world could use a few more nostalgic idealists, and… well, he asked me to. This was… a strange past few days. Acting as a spirit of vengeance from some bygone age that never truly existed. I suppose I was trying to find some sort of justice in this world, or perhaps I simply got caught up in the story. Trying to run away from the terrifying reality waiting for me. Escape, just like every client of the Memory Den. Admittedly, a much more violent and bloody escape, but an escape from the world, from responsibility, from the nightmares… the guilt. I told Kent that if he stopped fighting for justice, then the villains would have already won. It took pretending to be an old-fashioned hero to remind me of my own battle to fight.

And if I’m to have any hope of victory, I’m going to need a modern detective.


	8. Mr. Valentine, I presume?

**Entry 25**

It was a couple hours past sunset by the time I made my way to the doors of Diamond City. A young woman in a red leather trench coat was trying to convince the guard inside to let her in. She wasn’t having any success, as the Mayor was rather annoyed with her concerning a recent article she printed.

She saw me approaching and begged me to ‘play along.’ Claiming I was a trader come to town, she convinced the guard to open the door. The door, in reality a large portion of the wall on hydraulics, lifted, and the reporter and I were greeted by the Mayor himself. Mayor McDonough has the marks of a complacently corrupt politician written all over him. In another era, I’d assume the reporter, a Miss Piper Wright, to be a muckraking journalist of the sensationalist type. Now? She’s quite possibly one of the sanest people I’ve met so far. She invited me to stop by her newspaper’s office for an interview, her eagerness to get a story surely related to the newcomer to her town, however I came to see a detective, not a reporter.

Diamond City is constructed within the remains of Fenway Park. The guards wear baseball jerseys with umpire’s pads and helmets. They still carry guns, along with baseball bats. It is a surreal sight. The playing field is the central marketplace of the city, with a variety of supply shops, a doctor, and a food stand run by a Protectron unit, of all things. It didn’t take long for me to find the detective’s office, though a heart-shaped red neon sign on a shack on a back street wasn’t exactly a confidence inspiring sight.

Inside the office didn’t fare much better, cluttered with boxes of case files, a desk, and a woman who was clearly in some distress. Mr. Valentine was not in. The young woman, his secretary, explained that he was missing on a case and she feared the worst. A mobster by the name of ‘Skinny Malone’ from Goodneighbor (naturally) was holed up in the Park Street Station. Valentine walked into a trap. The case he was working on involved rescuing a kidnapped girl, which speaks well of his character. I can’t say I’ve never underestimated an opponent, after all.

There was nothing for it. I told his secretary I would bring him back. I don’t relish the idea of taking on a gang of mobsters in their home fort, but…

_(angry shouting in the distance)_

… what the devil?

_(voices become clearer)_

Riley: Don’t do this, please!

Kyle: Don’t move, synth! What have you done with the real Riley? Where’s my brother?

Riley: I swear. I’m not a Synth! Don’t shoot! For God sakes, we’re family!

Guard: Put the gun down! Now!

Kyle: He’s a synth! He’ll -

_(gunshot)_

Holmes: _(softly, disturbed)_ Dear god.

Riley: Kyle! No!

Guard: Okay, show’s over! There are no synths in Diamond City, hear me? Just you folks and your damn paranoia! Now move along!

… _(sounds of walking, something striking the side of a shack)_ …

Holmes: Damn it. I should have done something. _(tightly controlled anger)_ For such fear to overwhelm people… This is madness.

Synths. The paper published an article about synths.

 

**Entry 26**

Miss Wright’s paper, Publick Occurrences, is run solely by herself, and assisted by her little sister, Natalie. She recently published a piece called “The Synthetic Truth” that shed some small light on the paranoia of the town. Synths from the Institute are a real threat to the people here. There was an incident some time ago where a tradesman massacred many people in the market. When he was finally taken down, he was revealed to be one of the Institute’s synths that likely malfunctioned. The more I hear about the Institute, the more I envision an organization working from the shadows like an invisible spider’s web. Goodneighbor, Diamond City, the Brotherhood of Steel, all hate and/or fear them. No one knows why they make synths who can mimic humanity so perfectly, or what their ultimate goal truly is.

Miss Wright, for her part, is not only devoted to finding out the truth, but she wants the people of her city to wake up to the reality that is outside their great Wall. I consented to a brief interview, to provide a true outsider’s perspective on this world. I don’t know that she got anything newsworthy out of it, but she seemed pleased nonetheless, and offered to come with me. She assured me her sister could take care of herself, and run the paper, in her absence. An investigative journalist might prove a useful companion, so I agreed.

As soon as she gets her things -

Piper: _(faintly)_ Ready when you are, Blue.

Holmes: Are you going to insist on calling me that?

Piper: You’re the one from a Vault. Vault-dwellers wear blue. Besides, I like it.

Holmes: _(sighs)_

 

**Entry 27**

_(gunshots)_

Piper: Brought this on yourself! 

_(machine gun sounds)_

Holmes: Damn it, Piper, get down! 

_(Explosion. Gunshots cease.)_

Piper: Hope they made their peace. 

Holmes: _(sarcastic)_ I’d like to bring you back to Natalie alive, if at all possible. 

Piper: _(amused)_ Never thought a reporter could consider themselves a success until someone’d threatened their life. Me? I’m very successful. 

Holmes: That doesn’t justify running head first into - damn, it’s on. 

_(click)_

  


**Entry 28**

Underneath the Park Street Station is a Vault. Vault 114 was apparently never used for its original purpose, whatever that may have been. Given the deception with which Vault-Tec trapped me, I’m sure it was unpleasant. Now, it’s home to the ironically named Skinny Malone, and his gang. Miss Wright and I fought our way through, though I now question my decision to give such an aggressively confident young woman an automatic rifle. Not that she isn’t perfectly capable, I just find her pride in getting into dangerous situations a touch off-putting. At any rate, we eventually came to the overseer’s office deep inside the Vault where a figure was held within. His silhouette was all that was visible through the window. 

I opened the door, and paused to see yellow eyes glow from under the brim of an old fedora. “Mr. Valentine, I presume?" 

He lit a cigarette, the match’s flame illuminating the skeletal construction of his right hand, whatever artificial skin might have once covered it long gone. Wiring was visible where skin had torn away in his neck and sides of his skull, his face mottled aged ivory. The detective is a synth. 

“Ah, my knight-in-shining-armor,” he said, his accent placing him closer to Chicago than Boston. “But the question is, why does he come all this way, risk life and limb, for an old private eye?” 

The entire image was utterly unexpected. I admit, I was taken aback, and stood silent a moment before managing some coherent thought. I told him I need to find someone, but I don’t know where they could be or how long they’ve been gone. It didn’t faze him. “I’ve done jobs with less. Somehow “nice and simple” never makes it onto the menu in my world.” 

I can imagine. He’d been locked up for weeks, the kidnapped daughter he came to find not only not kidnapped, but Skinny Malone’s new flame, and she seems to have quite the mean streak. We hurried out as fast as we could, Malone’s men unpleasantly unwilling to let us simply leave. Mr. Valentine maintained a sarcastic sense of humor as he led the way out, explaining how Malone’s gang took over the abandoned vault after getting forced out of Goodneighbor by larger players. Malone was waiting for us by the Vault’s entrance. He and Valentine know each other from ‘the old neighborhood,’ and the mobster seems to harbor a little sentimentality for him. 

The girl, Darla, was something else altogether. A mean streak indeed, but I managed to convince her to go home to her worried family. This did not suit Malone, but he gave us until the “count of 10” to get out. We didn’t linger. Once out, Valentine naturally wanted to know how I knew where to find him. I explained his secretary sent me, to which he responded “I should give her a raise” and we made our way back to his office in Diamond City. 

Given Diamond City’s fear of synths, I was surprised at how welcome, or at least not hostile, the residents are toward their local detective. His secretary, Ellie, was pleased to have her employer and friend back. She told me Valentine could use a partner. I was again amused by the surrealistic situation, finding myself of all people in need of a detective. Yet, I simply don’t have the data necessary to find the people responsible, and the synthetic detective sitting before me certainly did. 

I sat down, and told him about my wife and son. 

The Institute was mentioned as a possible organization behind the kidnapping, unsurprisingly, but what intrigued me more was the fact that Valentine doesn’t remember anything about his origins. He knows he is a prototype of whatever came between the old all-metal models and the latest human-like ones, and that he was ‘tossed out’ but beyond that he remembers nothing. Some sort of security setting locks out memories of the Institute whenever a synth breaks ties with it. 

When I described the man who killed my wife, Valentine instantly recognized him. The description matches a man called Kellogg, a professional mercenary. He hasn’t any enemies, because they’re all dead… except me. He bought a house in town some time ago and had a ten year old child with him. They disappeared, but the house is still there. 

Valentine and I decided to see if we could find anything of use inside. What we found was a hidden room, with all the comforts of a mercenary’s home. The only identifying piece of information we could find was a unique brand of cigars. Luckily, I happen to know a dog with an excellent sense of smell. 


	9. Revelations of a Dangerous Mind

**Entry 29**

We tracked Kellogg to an old army base, Fort Hagen. It was patrolled by synths, clearly under the orders of Kellogg. The man in question seemed… begrudgingly admiring of my persistence. We spoke. He told me the Institute has my son. We fought, Valentine and I versus Kellogg and his synths. We won. The records in the fort confirmed the Institute’s involvement. Kellogg was equipped with a number of cybernetic implants, to the point where he was practically a machine himself. 

We have to get to the Institute, but Valentine can’t remember where it is because of the security locks in his memory. He suggested we ask Piper. How did he put it… “That dame knows more than she lets on - and she lets on a lot.” 

We exited the Fort to the sound of a massive airship overhead. “People of the Commonwealth. Do not interfere. Our intentions are peaceful. We are the Brotherhood of Steel.” 

I was surprised to hear Valentine softly quote “The Raven” - “Deep into that darkness peering, long I stood there, wondering, fearing.” Classic literature has apparently survived, at least in the form of one old-fashioned synthetic detective. Valentine went on to say the Brotherhood flying over the Commonwealth like that can only mean they’re here to start a war. I have half a mind to return to the Cambridge Police Station and demand answers of Paladin Danse, but that can wait. I have to find out if Piper knows anything. I’ve come this far. 

We stopped by a settlement on our way back to Diamond City. Valentine knows one of the settlers, surprisingly… perhaps not so surprisingly. The more time I spend in his company, the more I find myself warming to him. He has a strong sense of right and wrong, whether or not those morals may just be a machine’s programming, and has made a place for himself in a hostile world. 

_(stifled yawn)_ Enough. I must rest. 

**Entry 30**

We found Piper at Publick Occurrences. She’s been investigating the Institute for over a year, but has never found any sign of where they are actually located. Kellogg would have known, as he delivered my son to them, but he’s dead. Valentine seems to think that might not be a problem. 

We’re going to take the cybernetics I retrieved from Kellogg’s body to Dr. Amari at the Memory Den in Goodneighbor. I do not enjoy the idea of returning there, but we haven’t any other choice. We are out of ideas. If she can access Kellogg’s memories, then perhaps we can discover where the Institute can be found. 

As we walked, Valentine told me a little bit about how he came to Diamond City. Synths were not so common knowledge then, but the Institute was just as great a threat. Valentine saved the daughter of the Mayor at the time (by pretending he was rigged to explode, if his story is to be believed,) and slowly secured himself a place in the town, earning their trust one good deed at a time. He realized that ‘home is where you make it.’ 

I hope he’s right. I won’t be able to consider this world home until I finally face what has happened to my son, whatever that may be. 

**Entry 31**

Valentine: Goodneighbor. Lowest place in the Commonwealth. Everything not nailed down rolls through here at some point. Heh, thanks. 

_(sound of a match striking)_

Holmes: _(through his teeth)_ How is it possible for you to smoke? 

_(clink of a flip lighter)_

Valentine: It’s not. I mean, I can mimic the activity just fine, but that’s all it is. It’s habit… and, between you and me, it goes with the outfit. 

Holmes: _(short laugh, a long exhale)_ I’m not looking forward to this. 

Valentine: _(a bit surprised)_ The Memory Den? I know the idea sounds gruesome, but - 

Holmes: I’ve been in there before. 

Valentine: You have? _(puzzled, treading lightly)_ I, ah, take it you didn’t care for the experience. 

Holmes: No. _(exhale)_ But it can’t be helped. 

Valentine: Hm. Not to change the subject, but you seem to be recording. 

Holmes: Unintentionally. Must have been damaged by those ferals on the way here. 

_(sound distortion; he’s fiddling with controls)_

Valentine: _(amused)_ Well, it’s an older model you’ve jury rigged, and we older models can be a bit touchy - 

_(click)_

**Entry 32**

_…(static, muffled movement)…_

Valentine: Pardon me, but I just want there to be a record that when Mr. Holmes here decided to take a synth on board the Brotherhood of Steel flagship, I had nothing to do with it. Don’t blame me when you find our bodies smashed to smithereens from being thrown off the damn thing. 

Holmes: _(faintly)_ If you don’t want to come with me, Mr. Valentine, just say so. 

Valentine: Why would you want an old synth up there with you anyway? 

Holmes: I need someone on whom I can thoroughly rely. 

Valentine: I can’t be the only person in the whole Commonwealth who fits that description. 

Holmes: Perhaps, but you are the one who is here, and more importantly, the one who has helped me this far. I trust you. However, I completely understand if you’d rather stay behind. 

Valentine: … well… Ah, hell. I’ll be right outside. 

_(footsteps)_

… 

Holmes: _(sigh)_ Dr. Amari was successful. The cybernetics I’d taken from Kellogg’s body were encrypted, requiring both Valentine and myself to, ah, load the memories. He volunteered, actually, without knowing what sort of effect it would have on him. He let her plug that mercenary killer’s brain fragment into his head, simply because it was the only way to find my son. 

He is forever surprising me. 

I don’t want to dwell on what we saw. The important information is that the Institute uses teleportation to pass in and out, wherever it is, and that one of their scientists went rogue and is now hiding in the Glowing Sea. It’s a patch of massive radiation to the southwest. To survive it, I’ll need either a large stock of the miracle drugs RadAway and RadX to keep my body resistant to the radiation, or a suit of power armor. Power armor has the added bonus of protection from wildlife. There’s the old model I found in Concord, but I also know where I can get one a little more state-of-the-art. I’ve been wanting to ask Paladin Danse some questions about his organization’s intentions, besides. 

… 

My son is at least ten years old, now. Older, I don’t know how long ago that memory was… 

… 

I was kept alive for a reason. The Institute scientists thawed everyone out, leaving them to die locked inside their units, except me. I was frozen again. I don’t know what the reason is. Kellogg knew from the start that keeping me alive was a mistake. He expected me to one day take those “Institute bastards” out. 

He was right. 


	10. The Prydwen

**Entry 33**

( _The following has a muffled quality_ )

I’ve managed to set the recording controls to remain internal to a suit of power armor. I can speak, but no one outside will hear me. I don’t know what effect this will have on the recording, but it’s the best I can do right now.

Paladin Danse made no mention of my sudden disappearance, though he looked at me oddly when he saw the synth in a trench coat following me. I don’t know precisely what he thought, but apparently his military trained assessment of the situation led him to believe Valentine was neither a threat, nor worth his attention. He was eager to show me the Brotherhood’s flagship, the Prydwen. His relief at seeing the ship was palpable; being on it is quite clearly a sort of homecoming for him. The airship is anchored at the remains of Boston Airport. Danse’s superior, Lancer-Captain Kells, was not impressed with me. The feeling was mutual, though I remained satisfactorily polite. It was difficult to remain the same to the rest of the Brotherhood soldiers every time they commented on Valentine, but he bore it beautifully, his sharp wit giving as good as he got. I must apologize to him once we’re back on the ground.

The Brotherhood is led by Elder Maxson, who gave a rousing speech congratulating his troops on their efforts in the Commonwealth, condemning the free will of humanity, and declaring the Institute to be a cancer that must be wiped out so that humanity can be saved from itself. While I don’t dispute his opinion of the Institute in general, I take issue with the notion that humanity should be coddled, information and technology only handed to those select worthy few. The man is clearly an overzealous devotee of his own xenophobic dogma. The Brotherhood recruits children to their cause, indoctrinating their ‘Squires’ from a young age like some dictatorship’s youth army.

And now I’m a Knight of it. Won’t they be disappointed?

I have to continue the motions of the obedient soldier for a little while longer. There’s a scientist here working on a serum to protect from radiation damage at a higher degree than any medicine currently available. That would be useful. In addition, I need to ensure that this power armor comes with me off this floating fortress, and I don’t think they’ll let me waltz out the door and borrow a vertibird quite yet.

So, my ‘pet synth’ and I are staying onboard for the time being. I hope Valentine is still speaking to me by the time we get out of here.

 

**Entry 34**

Elder Maxson had a mission for his latest Knight, one which I had few moral qualms about completing. Mutants had taken over Fort Strong, which sits atop a nuclear arsenal. My mission was to “destroy the threat.” As Valentine said, “I’ve seen the kind of damage a Super Mutant can do with just a board with a nail in it. I’d hate to see what they can do with a nuke.” We boarded a vertibird, with some mild trepidation at the idea of flying in a two-hundred-year old aircraft, and discovered the presence of a monstrous mutant grown to extreme proportions. I shot down the behemoth using the vertibird’s deck gun, allowing us to land and continue through the fort.

Paladin Danse joined us after we were finished. He was quite impressed, and voiced a particular vitriol for super mutants. He clearly hates them just as much as synths, if not more, though I was unable to determine where the hatred comes from.

Of course, though we have removed the potential possibility of super mutants armed with nuclear weapons, the downside to all this is that the Brotherhood has now added significantly to its arsenal. They are working on something, a special project in their war that has caused a bit of bureaucratic infighting between departments if the Prydwen’s communication logs are anything to go by, but I don’t know what the project is. I do not care for the possibilities.

They are an interesting group, the residents of this floating fortress. The quartermaster is a shrewd businessman and fond of drink. The head of engineering uses a power armor frame as a replacement for her own legs, though her phantom pain doesn’t stop. The head archivist is… academic. While perusing the ship’s medical files, I discovered one of the Scribes was recently treated for a sexually transmitted disease common among ghouls. Apparently, not every member of the Brotherhood fully adheres to their notions of humanity. Or perhaps they do, and such acts are performed precisely because they’re deviant. … That’s not a trail of thought I want to follow any further, never mind.

There was a brief file on Paladin Danse. I remember how he seemed not to sleep in the police station. Apparently, this is the norm. He suffers a dull throbbing pain in the head, possibly a symptom of post traumatic stress disorder. I’d never have suspected it to listen to him wax poetic about duty and the Brotherhood. Perhaps his hatred of mutants is related.

Maxson has granted me permission to use the vertibirds whenever I need, with orders to keep an eye out for clues to the Institute. I will, but I have no intention of letting the Brotherhood know until I can determine what they’ll do with that information, and how many people will die because of it.

 

**Entry 35**

Before I could leave, Captain Kells ordered me to look into some missing supplies. Disobeying a direct order being a sure way to ensure I never set foot on this airship again, I agreed. This was obviously a test for the new recruit, and I wasn’t about to give him the satisfaction of seeing his distrust vindicated. I had to ask Valentine to wait for me outside Boston Airport, which he agreed to only because at least he was back on the ground. Then I asked for help from the person best suited to the task. Paladin Danse was, surprisingly, happy to oblige.

As I suspected it would, the Paladin’s authority cleared the way for my investigation. It was hardly a complex case, but I can’t deny it was refreshing to direct my energy into some real brainwork rather than simply surviving. I believe Danse found my methods amusing, but effective. The man even has a sense of humor, commenting upon my lockpicking; “Well, that’s a skill they don't teach in boot camp.”

We discovered Initiate Clarke was stealing from the logistics department to feed feral ghouls with the reasoning ‘they were human once’. He had a friend once who became a ghoul. The significance of the Brotherhood’s beliefs concerning ghouls didn’t fully occur to him until he was forced to kill. Feeding the feral ghouls kept them out of harm, and kept them from attacking the base, but it was an entirely untenable situation. He would be discovered eventually, and there is no way to know if his efforts at controlling the population would be successful. He is going to turn himself in, knowing Kells will not understand his motivation, nor try to, but he hopes that at least doing the honorable thing might earn him a fraction of favor. He will stand for what he thinks is right, even though he will be punished for it.

I sympathize with his impulse, what he was trying to do… but to endure existing as one of those things? To be a ghoul is one matter, like Hancock or Kent, but to have one’s mind rot away, to become no longer a person, but a creature… nothing terrifies me more. I’d rather be dead than fed in a locked room underground. I shouldn’t let my personal preference sway my objectivity, but I simply cannot imagine any person who became a feral ghoul wanting to live like that.

Danse apologized for his attitude when we first met. He was impressed with how well I handled the situation with Clarke. He sees great potential in me, and genuinely wants me to succeed in the Brotherhood. There’s a human being under all that power armor after all. I almost regret that one day I’m going to disappoint him.

( _sigh_ ) I want to return to Sanctuary to retrieve the older power armor for Valentine - even though he doesn’t need it for the radiation, I’d feel better knowing he was protected from being ripped apart by radscorpions or deathclaws or god knows what else might live in a sea of radiation. After all, I am hardly a mechanic. I am half tempted to have a vertibird take us to save time, but I also don’t particularly want the Brotherhood to know about the settlement. I feel oddly protective… Valentine, is something wrong?

Valentine: ( _faintly_ ) Hm? No, nothing’s wrong. I just, uh. Well, when you get a moment.

( _click_ )


	11. To the Glowing Sea

**Entry 36**

Valentine’s personality comes from the mind of a Chicago policeman who had his brain scanned as part of an experimental procedure before the war. Ever since he woke up in a junkyard after being discarded by the Institute, he’s had flashes of memory from the man he calls the “real” Nick Valentine. He feels they are a constant reminder that he is simply a machine pretending to be human, an opinion I completely disagree with and told him in no uncertain terms. He is not pretending to be anything. True, he may not be human, but he is most certainly a person, one of the best I’ve met in a very long time. He was appreciative, but not convinced. To be fair, I have no idea what it would be like to live with another person’s memories in my mind. His frustration is justified.

There is one memory from the "old Nick" that has caused him particular distress. A crime boss by the name of Eddie Winter apparently had the insane idea to turn himself into a ghoul before the bombs ever fell, in hope of immortality. He remains hidden away in a shelter, waiting to come out. Winter killed the woman that the original Nick loved. My Nick Valentine remembers her, and still clearly feels for her, even though he is fully aware that he himself never knew her. It doesn’t matter. Valentine grieves this woman’s death, and wants justice to be done. He knows where Winter hides, but can’t get inside due to a complex numerically coded lock. Valentine thinks the code is hidden on evidence tapes Winter recorded. They might still be in the remains of the old police stations around the Commonwealth. He’s been trying to find them for a long time. It seems I’m not the only great detective who could use a great detective.

I will find my son and put an end to the Institute however I can… but my friend needs help. He has been living with the memory of the death of someone he loves for a hundred years. He deserves a chance to put that memory to rest.

 

**Entry 37**

( _Recording starts suddenly, a hiss of air and scratch of gears. Both voices are fainter than they should be - the recording started accidentally_ )

Valentine: - let all that horsepower go to your head. My problems can wait.

Holmes: Your protest, though touching, is completely false. You’re worried about Winter, not just for his actions in the past, but for his potential actions should he decide it’s finally safe to come out of hiding. I don’t see our goals as being mutually exclusive, and neither do you, or else you wouldn’t have mentioned it. We will make our way to Sanctuary, stopping by each police station we come to, and as we head south to the Glowing Sea. Agreed?

Valentine: ( _mollified_ ) Sounds like a plan - hey wait a minute, Sanctuary? You mean that Minutemen outpost they were talking about on the radio?

Holmes: Yes.

Valentine: Why are we going there?

Holmes: There’s another suit of power armor I want to take.

Valentine: You know you can only wear one at a time, right?

Holmes: It’s not for me, it’s for you.

Valentine: Have you lost your mind? What am I going to do with a suit of armor, radiation can’t hurt me.

Holmes: Creatures can. I want to be well prepared. I can’t reattach your leg if it’s bitten off.

Valentine: Hm. Well. I suppose you have a point.

Holmes: Don’t look so uneasy, Mr. Valentine, I’m sure you’ll enjoy it. You do have a way with machines, after all.

Valentine: Alright, alright. So explain to me how you know there’s a suit of power armor in Sanctuary.

Holmes: I put it there.

Valentine: … You can be a real wise-ass sometimes, you know that?

 

**Entry 38**

A… I just found… no, radioactive creatures from nightmares are one thing, but…

An aircraft trailing smoke flew over our heads. We followed its direction and found a trail of burning trees through the forest south of Oberland Station leading to the crash site.

It looked like something off the cover of a science fiction paperback. I followed a trail of green substance - blood, I suppose - to a cave. The… pilot, was inside. I’d have thought I went mad if it weren’t for Valentine seeing the exact same thing. It reacted hostilely, which ended badly for it. I can’t even begin to comprehend what manner of ammunition its weapon uses, but it is effective. The craft is beyond salvage. Where did it come from?

What planet…

No. No, I refuse to consider the implications.

 

**Entry 39**

( _Recording starts suddenly, a hiss of air and scratch of gears. A distant voice shouts “Hey!”_ )

Valentine: Hope you’re friendly with the locals.

Holmes: You could say that. Ah, exiting the armor triggers the recording for some reason -

Preston: ( _coming closer_ ) Brotherhood! There something I can do -

Valentine: Holmes. Not the time -

Preston: - Well, look who’s back!

Holmes: ( _fondly_ ) Preston.

Preston: Good to see you, General, though I hardly recognized you behind a Brotherhood symbol.

Valentine: General?

Holmes: I didn’t join up, Preston, don’t worry. Not with any serious intention, at least.

Preston: You joined the Brotherhood just to get a new suit of armor?

Holmes: That wasn’t the only reason. It’s not the first time I’ve gone undercover for information.

Preston: You know, I don’t think you ever told me what you used to do for a living.

Valentine: Come to think of it, I have no idea either.

Holmes: Nick Valentine, Preston Garvey of the Minutemen. Preston, Nick Valentine, private detective.

Preston: Mr. Valentine. Any friend of the General’s is always welcome.

Valentine: Uh, thanks.

Preston: I think I remember hearing about a detective called Valentine, in Diamond City? Some of our new settlers mentioned the name once, said you were a big help.

Valentine: I try to help as many as I can.

Preston: ( _pleased_ ) So do we. Things are really starting to come together now… though you had me worried, General. After that Covenant business… well, I’m glad you’re alright.

Holmes: ( _touched_ ) I apologize for worrying you. I’m afraid I’m not staying long this time, either.

Preston: But you are coming back, right?

Holmes: I suppose that rather depends on what state I find my son in. If I find him.

Valentine: When we find him.

Preston: ( _friendly_ ) At least you’re in good hands. Be careful out there.

Valentine: I’ll stay out of trouble if he does.

( _sounds of movement, clink of tools_ )

Valentine: Holmes.

Holmes: Valentine?

Valentine: Why the hell did he call you General?

Holmes: You’re a better detective than that.

Valentine: ( _not amused_ ) How does a former icicle become the General of a just recently recovered militia?

Holmes: Preston and his ragtag bunch of followers were the first people I met after getting out of the Vault that didn’t try to kill me on sight. They were holed up under siege by raiders in Concord. I was wandering in search of people, and then simply trying to get through the town without being noticed. Preston called for help, and directed me to the roof where an old vertibird had crashed at the start of the War. It had a suit of power armor and a minigun. I stopped the raiders, and then followed Preston and his group here. Preston wanted to restart the Minutemen. He asked me to help. I said yes, not realizing that his definition of help included leading the damn thing.

Valentine: Heh, somehow I don’t think you protested too much. You seem to rank “doing good” pretty high on your list of priorities. I’m going to run some diagnostics while you’re tinkering, but first tell me. Just what did you do before you were an icicle?

Holmes: I was a detective. … ( _amused_ ) I’m serious.

Valentine: Huh.

  


**Entry 40**

It’s been a few days since I had an opportunity to record an entry. Valentine and I made our way south, stopping by the Coast Guard Pier to retrieve one of Winter’s holotapes. The man was ruthless, and could easily put together another criminal empire if he ever gained the courage to come back out into the world. I don’t know what he’s been waiting for. I understand why Valentine is anxious.

From there we went southwest, until the landscape started to change. The scorched earth became spotted with radioactive ponds, charred trees, wrecked cars and heaps of rubble. Hardly any signs of previous civilization exist. What few buildings remain that aren’t reduced to debris are half-buried by landslides and sinkholes. The ‘sea’ must be ground zero. This is where the bomb struck. That cloud of fire, the last sight of the world before sinking into that Vault… ... 

Despite the desolation and dangerous radiation levels, there was plenty of life. Eight radscorpions, six bloodbugs, a mole rat colony, and two deathclaws later, we found a settlement. A human settlement. They call themselves Children of Atom, devoting their life to this greenish-yellow crater. How they are not dead, I can’t fathom. It was unnerving, to say the least. Their leader, a Mother Isolde, directed me to the rogue Institute scientist, Virgil, stating that his presence had caused some concern. I didn’t know what to make of the comment at the time.

Everything became clear when we reached the cave he’s been hiding in. The only place the Institute scientist could hope to hide was an irradiated crater. Virgil knew he could never survive the radiation on his own, one can only carry so much radaway, so he took a more drastic method to ensure his survival. The man is a bioscientist. He injected himself with a modified version of something called an ‘FEV’ virus. He turned himself into a Super Mutant.

The Institute create Super Mutants. I didn’t need another reason to want them destroyed, but they certainly make it easy.

Unlike most mutants, Virgil maintains his intelligence, though it seems as though that may be slipping. He has a limited amount of time to find a way to change himself back to being human. As I need his help getting into the Institute, I agreed to help him in return. He gets me inside, I retrieve a serum to reverse the mutation process, and we are even. Unfortunately, getting inside requires a chip from the brain of a Courser. ‘Coursers’ are the Institute’s top agents. I am horribly unprepared to go looking for a synth assassin. We’re going back to Sanctuary for repairs, and to plan.

Valentine: ( _faintly_ ) You know, I don’t need to eat or sleep or anything like that, but if you need to, you go right ahead.

Holmes: I didn’t realize the Institute included “mother hen” in your programming.

Valentine: Guess the old Nick had a thing for keeping his jackass friends alive. You’ve been running on cigarettes and stimpaks for twenty-four hours. Take a damn nap.


	12. Castles and Kids in Fridges

**Entry 41**

The Abernathy farm was on our way back to Sanctuary. Valentine was hoping I would rest, but there wasn’t time for that. Connie, the mother of the family, had been kidnapped by raiders. We tracked them to a federal rations stockpile, and discovered the farmer’s wife had been taken because the raiders were being ransomed themselves. They had been forced to send all their food supplies to a brewery where the leader’s sister was being held. It was clear from the letters sent to communicate between parties that the sister had died, and yet the leader continued with the vague hope that her sister had escaped. Neither party will be killing or kidnapping anyone anymore. These raiders are terribly ruthless and resourceful. If they could stop their tribal bickering and attempt to work instead of just stealing from each other, they’d be a force to be reckoned with. ... That’s a terrifying thought.

We returned Connie to her eternally grateful family. Valentine keeps waiting for me to show some sign of exhaustion. I can’t sleep. The scope of what lies ahead of me… Kill an artificially constructed human designed to be unstoppable. Return to a mutated scientist within a radioactive crater. What happens after that, I can’t fathom, but even those two points make my head spin. I don’t have any sort of plan. Getting into the Institute is the plan. When I get there… then what? What is the Institute’s game?

Is Shaun even there anymore? Why did they take him in the first place?

The raiders, that woman, clinging to the lost hope that her sister was alive even though she knew something had happened. Rather than assume death, she assumed escape. Am I doing the same thing? I know my son is likely alive at least, Kellogg’s memories proved that much, but am I blinding myself to other possibilities?

 

**Entry 42**

( _long sigh, exhausted_ )

I hate to admit it, but Valentine might be right. I’ve run myself ragged. Even Codsworth commented on it. Of course, he hadn’t been with us long enough to see me in the throes of a challenging case before everything went to Hell. Having other people around has been good for him. Sturges in particular seems to enjoy bantering with him, though I’m not sure Codsworth always realizes when Sturges is joking.

Valentine realized this used to be my home. He looked at me with… it is difficult to tell sometimes, what exactly Nick Valentine is thinking. He doesn’t always react the way I expect, either. I’m getting much better at reading him the longer I know him, yet he still surprises me. I suspect I’ll never get his limits. He realized this used to be my home, and it was as if a piece of a puzzle had slipped into place, that he knew was supposed to be there but just hadn’t quite put together.

There’s something Preston wants to talk to me about, but he specifically said it could wait until morning. Valentine’s nod of approval was enough to get me to surrender. So, I suppose I’ll sleep.

 

**Entry 43**

The matter Preston wanted to discuss was his intent to take Fort Independence. When I asked him why an old fort on the other side of the Commonwealth was important, he told me it was once the Minutemen headquarters. “The Castle”, as it was called, was abandoned after an unsuccessful battle with a “monster” out of the sea. This was far enough before Preston’s time that he only knows the legend, and none of the details. What he does know, is that there was a radio tower in the Castle that let the Minutemen communicate all across the Commonwealth. He thinks it would be essential to reestablishing the Minutemen as a universal force for protection.

Every time Preston talks about the Minutemen, he paints a picture of heroes across the countryside, ready to help anyone at any moment. The Minutemen weren’t founded with a particular dogma in mind, rather a simple desire to do good, but there are a great many ways doing good can morph into the opposite. Yet… with Preston in charge, such a cause just might have a chance.

Oh, he can call me General all he wants, but I’m a glorified figurehead at best. He is the one with the vision. It is a nostalgic, rose tinted vision, to be sure… ( _laughs softly_ ) But, perhaps the world could use a few more nostalgic idealists.

Well. The Brotherhood made me a knight. Seems only fitting I should go fight a monster in a castle.

 

**Entry 44**

( _Recording starts suddenly - muffled, recorded from inside a suit of power armor_ )

( _explosion, gunfire_ )

Preston: General!

Holmes: I’m fine!

Minuteman: What the hell is that thing?

Preston: Everybody, concentrate your fire on the queen!

Valentine: What the hell else would we do, Preston?! Shoot at the walls?

Preston: Shut up and shoot, Nick!

( _heavy muffled clang, noises of battle subside_ )

Holmes: Ah ha. This should help.

( _battle gets louder again; gunshots, loud snapping sounds, skittering_ )

Preston: Come on, Minutemen!

( _sound of a missile firing_ )

( _spraying hiss_ )

Holmes: Damn!

Preston: Steady, people, we can do this!

( _missile firing_ )

Preston: She’s hurting now! Don’t let up!

( _someone screams_ )

( _missile firing_ )

Preston: We’ve almost got her! Keep firing!

( _missile firing_ )

( _bass distortion - something remarkably big falling to the ground_ )

( _breathing_ )

Holmes: Thank god. ( _frustrated sigh_ ) And perhaps one day being jostled the wrong way won’t -

( _click_ )

 

**Entry 45**

Four Minutemen and two detectives in power armor is not my ideal fighting force… but we did it. The sea monster was what Preston called a queen mirelurk, a hulking monstrosity of a crustacean that spit poison and released young like living grenades. Had I not lined the seaside breach with explosives, and had I not found missiles and a launcher inside the fort, the outcome would have been very different. As it is, two of the Minutemen Preston conjured from the ether are dead, their lives willingly sacrificed for a crumbling symbol of past glory. Preston sees it as a symbol of the better future to come.

It will take a lot of work before that happens. The northwest and southwest walls are all but demolished, with a sizable hole in the south wall as well. Mud and the remains of mirelurk clutches litter the courtyard and interior areas. It’s not a confidence inspiring sight. Though, I suppose if anyone were able to change that, it would be Preston Garvey.

With their radio tower running, they can broadcast across the Commonwealth, delivering aid “at a minute’s notice” as soon as they gather some more members. Two Minutemen and a reluctant General are not enough to fix the world.

I’ll help Preston with some rudimentary repairs for now, perhaps see if there’s a way to get the power in this place running again, as the electrical system seems miraculously intact. Then I have a promise to keep to a friend, and a Courser to hunt down. 

 

**Entry 46**

While we were on this side of the Commonwealth, I thought it prudent to visit the Quincy police station in the search for Winter’s tapes. I knew from what Preston told me about the Quincy Massacre that the city would likely be crawling with Gunners. I didn’t let Preston know where we were headed. He’s become accustomed to my lack of explanations, though of course he’d rather I gave him more details. We left him to continue work on making the Castle habitable, and headed south.

Perhaps halfway there we heard a voice calling from a refrigerator on the side of the road. Saying it aloud makes me realize just how odd that sounds, but it was true nonetheless. A child named Billy was trapped inside, had been for a very long time. I opened the door, and a child ghoul stumbled out. He’d hidden in the refrigerator when the bombs fell. Before the War. I almost couldn’t believe it. The radiation that seeped through must have sustained him as it transformed him, it’s the only explanation for how he didn’t starve to death. I’ll have to ask the few ghouls of my acquaintance if they’ve ever heard of such a thing. The child was remarkably well adjusted for two hundred years of solitude. A state of stasis, perhaps, akin to hibernation with small periods of consciousness? However the method, Billy survived, and wanted to go home. He said he was from Quincy. Well, we couldn’t just leave the boy on the side of the road.

Valentine told him we had an adventure ahead of us, and Billy stayed close by. He did well to hide at every sight of the mercenary Gunners as we slowly made our way through Quincy in search of his home. A man named Bullet stopped us at one point, curious about the ghoul child. Valentine’s metallic grip on my arm is the only thing that stopped me from shooting the cur when he made an offer for Billy. The slave trade is alive and well after the apocalypse. I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised. Valentine was right to restrain me, Billy could have been hurt in the crossfire and the commotion would have attracted too much attention, but it rankled nonetheless.

We moved on, and at last came to an isolated little house just outside the city proper. Billy ran forward, calling for his parents. Valentine and I ran after him, terrified of the multitude of things that might be hiding inside… but there they were. Matt and Carol Peabody, Billy’s parents. Ghouls, naturally.

The happy reunion was interrupted by Bullet, who had decided he would simply take Billy by force, and brought along some friends to help. I stalled for time until Billy was hidden upstairs, and the Peabodys were armed.

Valentine: ( _faintly_ ) I still can’t believe you used the line “these people are under my protection.”

Holmes: ( _wryly amused_ ) You seemed to appreciate it.

Valentine: Don’t get me wrong, I loved it. Just didn’t expect to hear it.

Holmes: It was unwise, we were horribly outnumbered and outgunned.

Valentine: Not that that ever stopped us before. Besides, everyone survived - every ghoul and detective, at least. Nice of the Peabodys to set us up for the night, too. Be a shame to waste the hospitality, especially with a synth willing to stand guard all night.

Holmes: ( _laugh_ ) You’ve made your point, Valentine.

 

**Entry 47**

We left before dawn to find the police station. The Gunners were not yet alert, but we had to move swiftly to take advantage of their complacency. Unfortunately, the station was occupied by a restless woman in power armor, itching for a fight. I took care of the men surrounding her while Valentine suddenly found himself engaged in hand to hand combat - ( _Valentine scoffs in the background_ ) - which was impressive. He struck her with a shock baton, the electricity crackling across the surface of the armor, as I fired at her suit’s fusion core, forcing her to emerge. She fell with a final strike from Valentine.

We collected the evidence tape from the station and began our progress out of town. We were forced to take cover in a church that had been converted into a mechanic’s shop. It used to belong to Sturges. The terminal entries revealed a little more about what happened to the Minutemen here. Sturges wrote of Mama Murphy having visions of people dead in the streets. I remain supremely skeptical, but apparently she has been right enough times in the past for Sturges to call for aid from the Minutemen. The Minutemen came, the Gunners scared off. Preston and Sturges reinforced the walls while waiting for reinforcements to arrive.

They never came.

A Minuteman called Clint sided with the Gunners and the town was taken. Preston and his group were on the run. When I found them, their numbers had fallen to five.

Clint is now a lieutenant of the Gunners. I saw him as we made our way out of town. It was a far distance, too far to see details, but the gleam of power armor was unmistakable… as was the shape of his hat. It’s identical to Preston’s, a remainder of the people he betrayed. It’s like seeing Benedict Arnold with a star spangled banner on his chest. Valentine and I are seeking a bit of closure, whatever small amount of peace a hint of justice might bring. It occurs to me I have another friend who may feel the same way.

 

**Entry 48**

A new face waited for me at the Castle. One of the Minutemen’s older members came out of hiding to see the new General. She was not terribly impressed initially, but she slowly came around to giving this revival a chance. Her name is Ronnie Shaw, and her knowledge of the Castle was invaluable. We’ve gained access to the armory, and restored the Fort’s artillery. Preston has been the happiest I’ve ever seen him.

I mentioned Clint. Preston’s face instantly darkened, but he took a breath and said he’d love to see the man dead, but didn’t have time to waste on him. Let him rot in Quincy, surrounded by mercenary gunman who won’t give a damn when he’s dead. I told him he was a far more merciful man than most. Then he smiled a little, and led me to the newly cleaned General’s quarters.

Which is where I now sit. There’s a uniform in the dresser drawer, one I am utterly uncomfortable wearing. Preston is wholly devoted to bringing back the Minutemen, in a way I never can be. I told him as much, tried to make him understand his mistake, yet again. He, in turn, tried to make me understand my mistake - to assume he expects a miracle. He is perfectly aware that I won’t be around much, if at all. As long as I’m there when it counts. As long as someone is there who can be called on to do the right thing. The just thing. To make the occasional hard decision, and unify an irregular bunch of people who want to help… ( _chuckles_ ) I suppose that, at least, I can do.

He told me something else. It was difficult for him tell me, and I find it’s difficult for me to talk about… it isn’t every day someone thanks you for saving their life. Not from raiders or creatures, those thanks are always welcome but easily returned. I hadn’t realized just how bad things were. The darkness Preston existed in. He’d lost everything, his friends, his hope, everything he believed in. He thought he had failed everyone who relied on him. They were never going to get out of Concord. He kept fighting, for the sake of the few people around him, but he was ready to die, and had been for a long time.

And then a perfect stranger in a blue jumpsuit joined the fight, because it was the right thing to do.

Meeting me renewed his desire to live. It's… humbling, to know that. To know someone could feel such gratitude, that one’s actions could have such effect without ever knowing. I’m glad. The world needs more people like Preston Garvey.


	13. Finding Winter

**Entry 49**

Valentine was perfectly willing to continue the hunt for a Courser, but I surprised him. There is only one tape remaining until we have the code to Eddie Winter’s hideaway. It should be in the Nahant Police station, to the north. We may as well finish it.

Heading north took us past Goodneighbor. I decided to drop by Kent’s station, just to see how he was doing since the Shroud business. Apparently, he’s been just fine, and hasn’t given up on his ‘hero.’ There hasn’t been any vigilante justice in town lately, but Kent had made some modifications to the Silver Shroud’s armor that he was immensely proud of. Yet, he is also certain he can do better, and wants me to be sure to check in with him when I’m next in town.

Of course, I had to explain to Valentine why the ghoul living in the Memory Den had a modified Silver Shroud costume for me. He remembered hearing something on the radio, a rumor of someone in Goodneighbor dressing up as the Silver Shroud and doing his best superhero impression. There was no use trying to deny it. I told Valentine the story of how I became a vigilante of pulp fiction for a short time and saved Kent from raiders. Now I have Kent’s eternal gratitude, though it is hardly necessary.

Valentine: ( _faintly_ ) Just how did you manage to save Kent?

Holmes: I convinced Senjin’s henchmen I was the Shroud, and when they ran I shot Senjin in the head. Multiple times.

Valentine: You mean they thought you really did just walk out of a comic book? How’d you pull that off?

Holmes: ( _as the Shroud_ ) Death comes for you, and I am it’s Shroud!

Valentine: Ha! Not bad. I’d still keep a firearm handy, but honestly, not bad.

Holmes: Kent thought of the firearm, too. Silver submachine gun.

Valentine: That guy’s not kidding around with this whole number one fan thing. And you went along with it, playing superhero for a few days.

Holmes: It was not the sanest moment in my life. I was desperate for something to keep me occupied, to drive out just a fraction of the… thoughts. I do not do well with idleness. Without a challenge, something to occupy my mind, I become… my wife called them ‘black moods.’ It was idiotic, but I can’t say I didn’t enjoy it. I have always had a flair for the dramatic.

Valentine: ( _amused, but impressed_ ) There’s a whole other dimension to you I never would have guessed at. ( _Holmes chuckles_ ) After a story like that, I think I deserve to see it on you.

Holmes: Valentine.

Valentine: Come on, you can’t tell your pal you’re the Silver Shroud and expect him to leave it alone.

Holmes: ( _sigh_ )

 

**Entry 50**

Someone is following me. I’ve noticed a man in sunglasses pretending to be a drifter hovering behind me at every turn during our overnight stay in Goodneighbor. He was in the Memory Den, on the street in front of Daisy’s, and I am certain I have seen those sunglasses before. His facial structure is exactly the same, no matter the disguise he wears. I caught him watching me twice while haggling with Daisy before we left. I haven’t seen him since, but it wouldn’t surprise me… I sound paranoid, but all my instincts are telling me I should have paid closer attention to - ( _rush of flapping, a crow caws_ )

( _sigh_ ) Crows. Of all the birds, why did crows survive the apocalypse? Dogs survived essentially unchanged, hardier and more intelligent perhaps if Dogmeat is anything to go by, so I suppose it isn’t much of a stretch to think the same of birds… except I’ve seen mutated dogs as well. There is a variety of mammalian life, a small variety perhaps, but variety nonetheless. I haven’t seen or heard a single bird, apart from crows.

Valentine: ( _faintly, wary_ ) Philosophize later. I don’t think we’re alone… huh.

Holmes: ( _softly_ ) Well. That’s… an unexpected sight.

Valentine: Yeah. You know, I don’t know what I find more disturbing - the fact that there’s a ship lodged in that building or that there’s still a ship lodged in that building. 

 

**Entry 51**

The USS Constitution is stuck in the Weatherby Savings and Loan building. The historic ship is crewed by robots. Protectrons and Mr. Handys all take orders from a delusional sentry-bot who calls himself Captain Ironsides. He wants to see the Constitution freed from her undignified perch, but needs a guidance chip that was stolen by scavengers. The scavengers, for their part, want to eliminate the crew so that they can dismantle the ship for parts.

I suppose I can sympathize with the scavengers, who see nothing but a source of potential profit blocked by a dozen robots, but at the same time they are motivated solely by greed. Greed has a way of turning decent people ugly, very quickly. I’d much rather see the ship in the sea than sold for parts, as ridiculously nostalgic as that is. If I’m being perfectly honest, I don’t want Ironsides to come to harm, even if he is insane.

Valentine naturally enough supported the robots in their cause, as he is not the type of person to kick anyone out of their home, be they human or mechanical. I did worry him a bit though, remaining neutral through my talk with the leader of the scavengers. “I hope you’re not considering helping give those robots the boot from their home,” he said.

Valentine: Can you blame me? Then you had to go sneaking through, playing burglar to get the guidance chip.

Holmes: They never even knew I was there.

Valentine: For a detective, you sure do have a strong criminal skillset.

Holmes: If I hadn’t decided to devote my life to solving crimes, I easily could have been one of the greatest criminals in the world.

Valentine: ( _amused, match striking_ ) Ever so humble. Guess the world got lucky, then.

Holmes: ( _humored scoff_ ) Thank you. ( _quick drag on a cigarette_ ) The scavengers did attack, naturally, but they were fended off. Ironsides had been building rockets to propel the ship back to the ocean for years. Now that they were complete, and the guidance chip in place, the USS Constitution began her voyage back to the sea… and made it all the way into a skyscraper.

( _moment of silence as they smoke_ )

Valentine: You know, from this angle it doesn’t look half bad.

 

**Entry 52**

Our journey north took us past a farm owned by the Finch family. The patriarch, Abraham Finch, asked for my help retrieving a family heirloom his son, Jake, had stolen. When I asked about the son, I was told in no uncertain terms that the boy was as good as dead to his father. I have my doubts, and agreed to find the heirloom primarily out of concern for the son. He is mixed up with some peculiar raiders based in a nearby ironworks. They call themselves ‘The Forged.’ The item in question is a sword equipped with flame jets, which seems a superfluous addition. With a father named Abraham, I was a touch disappointed the son bearing the flaming sword wasn’t named Michael, though perhaps Isaac would be more appropriate… I digress.

The ironworks were still functional, flame jets exposed and vats of molten metal regularly fed. The raiders inhabiting it wore iron armor and wielded flamethrowers in addition to the usual weaponry. ‘The Forged’ are a fanatically obsessive fire-worshiping cult whose leader tortured and murdered all those who committed even the most minor of transgressions. That’s one death I won’t lose any sleep over.

We managed to talk some sense into Jake and brought him back to his father, despite Abraham claiming not to want him back. The reconciliation nearly didn’t happen, but thankfully Abigail Finch is just as stubborn as her husband. She was glad to have her son home, and scolded both of them for acting ridiculous. Abraham told me to keep the sword as his thanks. Though I do consider myself a skilled swordsman, I’ve never wielded a saber engulfed in flame before. It’s garish, but to be perfectly honest… it is rather fun.

 

**Entry 53**

( _hurried, out of breath - running while speaking_ )

We continued to Nahant, past a Gunner outpost, and found the police station. The tape was there, along with an array of ferals we made short work of. With all the tapes in hand, Valentine was finally able to work out the code. Winter is hiding Andrew Station.

I couldn’t stop Valentine if I wanted to. At this rate, it’s a challenge just to keep up.

 

**Entry 54**

( _machine gun firing_ )

Valentine: That’s the last of them. That filthy toad’s right on the other side of that door. Why don’t you do the honor?

( _series of beeps; door creaks_ )

Winter: ( _aged, confident Boston gangster_ ) Who the fuck are you? Just how the fuck did you… No. No way. Not after all this time. Don’t tell me you actually cracked my code? In the holotapes? ( _laughs_ ) Well, hey, it’s only been, what… Two hundred years? ( _laughs_ ) Well look… I’m not sure what you thought you’d find - gold, jewels, the secrets of the universe. But you get me. One guy. A “ghoul,” I guess you’d call me. Just living. Surviving. And what I got, you can’t have. That code… it was a joke. I just wanted to prove how dumb those feds were. Turns out, pretty dumb. So take your asses someplace else.

Valentine: I’m not going anywhere until I get what I came for.

Winter: Yeah? And what’s that? And who are you, huh? ( _puzzled_ ) You look kinda familiar. But… what are you, some kind of robot? Is that what it’s like out there now? A world of robot overlords? I knew it.

Valentine: The name’s Valentine. Nick Valentine. Remember me?

Winter: Valentine? The cop? Is that who you’re supposed to be? Sorry, pal, but you ain’t Nick Valentine. You’re just some kind of… machine.

Valentine: ( _seething_ ) You killed my fiancee. Jennifer Lands. There are some crimes even you can’t get away with, Winter.

Winter: Your fiancee? ( _mocking_ ) You mean Valentine’s fiance? Pretty girl. A shame what happened to her. But hey you… or, you know… the real Valentine. He shoulda backed off when he had the chance. But what gives, robot man? Why do you even care? Some girl gets whacked 200 years ago, and you come into my home, acting the hard guy? Christ, look at you. You’re not even alive.

Valentine: Then I guess I’m in good company.

( _gunfire_ )

Valentine: ( _tired_ ) We’re done here. But there’s one more thing I’ve got to do. I… I wouldn’t mind the company, if you wanted to tag along.

( _walking_ )

This is it. In this spot, two hundred years ago, one of Eddie’s boys gunned down Jenny Lands, my fiancee… Nick’s fiancee. ( _somber_ ) Now Eddie’s as dead as Jenny and Nick. And I… I’m at a loss. Winter was it, the only reminder left of the original Nick Valentine. The last proof outside of some long lost Institute archive I was ever just a mechanical copy of some cop from a bygone era. ( _a bit choked up_ ) I’m not sure how to feel.

Holmes: ( _gently_ ) What were you expecting?

Valentine: I just thought this would fix things. But it’s not that easy. ( _exasperated_ ) Because I was Nick Valentine. I had his memories. His fears. All that poor bastard’s hope. I remember getting the call to head to some lab in Cambridge to get that neurotrans-whatever. ( _angry_ ) And the next thing I know, I’m in a trash heap, my family, my home, my entire life, gone. Then I discover, all those things, they weren’t even mine. ( _sigh_ ) Everything I ever was belonged to Nick. I’d hoped with Winter gone, the last hint of that old world snuffed out, I could finally be free. But being out here with you, what I finally realize after all this time is that taking down Winter, it wasn’t about Nick or Jenny or even you or me. ( _stern_ ) It was about justice, about doing what’s right. And that act of goodness, that’s ours. All the good we’ve done. That’s ours and ours alone. And even if that’s the only thing in this world I can ever claim as mine, not Nick’s, not the Institute’s, but mine, then I can die happy. ( _quieter, grateful_ ) And none of it would have ever happened if it weren’t for you. I’m not sure I’ll ever be able to thank you for that.

Holmes: ( _discomfited_ ) Don’t thank me, Valentine. All I did was track down some tapes for a friend.

Valentine: ( _amused_ ) You can’t stop being noble, now can you? ( _friendly_ ) Well, come on. We’re not helping anyone standing around here.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, the last entry is just a tweaked copy/paste of the in-game dialogue. It's the best damn speech in the game, far be it from me to mess with it.


	14. The Railroad

**Entry 55**

I picked up a radio signal being broadcast from Trinity Tower. A man called Rex Goodman was dramatically asking for help. He’d been captured by super mutants, and it was only a matter of time before he would be eaten by them. Fighting thirty stories worth of super mutants is not how I hoped to spend the evening, but I couldn’t ignore the call for help. Perhaps I should have.

Mr. Goodman is an actor, as was evident by his language and tone on the distress call. He’s also an idiot. He tried to teach Shakespeare to super mutants. They found Macbeth funny. Surprisingly, it seemed to stick with one of them… in a way. Unsurprisingly, the others were not amused for long, and locked Goodman in a cage with a radio so he could signal for help. Everyone who tried to save him was killed and eaten. I am shocked that the idea that he might be bait never occurred to him… no, no, it’s not shocking at all, only someone with a remarkably narcissistic solipsism about the world would even think of performing Macbeth for what is essentially a tribe of cannibals three times his size and heavily armed.

Strong, the one mutant who didn’t want to eat the actor, took the ‘milk of human kindness’ line literally. He wants to find it. Goodman left, anxious to get away and no wonder, leaving me in the Trinity Tower lobby with Strong! I wanted nothing to do with a delusional hulk, but I doubted explaining the metaphor would go well. He wants to learn about humans… so I put him to work.

Preston might not forgive me for sending him a super mutant for a castle guard.

 

**Entry 56**

At last, we managed to track down a Courser. He was in the Greenetech Genetics building, now inhabited by Gunners, who could do nothing to stop his progress. He was after a runaway synth the Gunners had caught. He was initially confused by my presence, an unknown variable, but as soon as he realized my purpose he activated a cloaking device and began his attack. Valentine solved the problem with a flamethrower. The Courser’s presence interfered with the stream of flame, giving me a target to fire at with a modified canon I’d taken off the USS Constitution, anticipating the need for heavy weaponry against an Institute assassin. Once the Courser was down, I released the synth runaway and retrieved the chip from inside the Courser’s skull. Now we only have to decode it.

I know a doctor who has some experience with synth technology, particularly the sort that involves brain fragments.

 

**Entry 57**

Dr. Amari was unable to decode the Courser chip, but she knows someone who might be able to - the Railroad. I’ve heard them mentioned in passing, a sort of pro-synth resistance, but more than that, they are apparently a secret underground… well, railroad, for synths, liberating them from the Institute. In order to find them, I have to “follow the freedom trail.” Amari wasn’t sure what that meant, but fortunately I’m familiar with pre-War history and its landmarks. The Freedom Trail was a tour route, with important landmarks indicated with bronze seals. Follow the tour, find the Railroad, decode the chip, return to a mutant in a radioactive crater…

( _sigh_ ) I’d best get started.

 

**Entry 58**

At the end of the Freedom Trail is the Old North Church. It’s amazing - inspiring, really - to see the steeple of a church built in the eighteenth century still standing, even if a portion of the roof has collapsed.

( _shuffling, muted growl_ )

Damn. ( _whoosh of flame, as if lighting a gas stove_ )

( _hoarse snarls and screams, sounds of physical effort, gunshots_ )

( _rush of air being cut off_ )

Valentine: ( _distant_ ) Goodness. Roasted feral smells even worse than the regular kind.

Holmes: An unfortunate downside to wielding a flaming sword.

Valentine: Well, if you’re going to fight ghouls with a sword of flame, this’d be the setting for it.

( _tumble of rubble in the distance_ )

( _silence_ )

Valentine: ( _reverently_ ) Even after all these years, it still feels… sacred.

Holmes: I’ll never understand how anyone could think you are in any way less than human.

Valentine: Heh. Well, the mechanical parts make a strong argument.

Holmes: Very well, I amend my comment; You are not yourself human, but you are a great conductor of humanity.

Valentine: Helps when there’s a good friend at my back… he said to no one behind him.

Holmes: In the steeple!

( _steps softly echo_ )

Valentine: Well, someone’s been here recently.

Holmes: Two lanterns lit. That was the signal when the British were coming up the river during the Revolutionary War. I wonder what it signifies five hundred years later. Come on, let’s try the basement.

Valentine: You think the Railroad will appreciate being recorded?

Holmes: Do you think they’ll notice?

Valentine: Do you want to risk it?

Holmes: ( _sigh_ ) You’re right.

 

**Entry 59**

There is some truth to the ‘spook stories’ as Valentine called them. The Railroad. “The synth’s only friends,” as their leader claims. I refrain from stating too many details on the off chance I should be killed and these tapes taken from my body by someone who would threaten the Railroad. I suppose it’s bad enough I reveal the Old Church, but it isn’t quite that simple to get in. Well. It was simple for me, but I doubt the average raider would have any luck.

( _clink of a lighter_ )

( _slow exhale_ ) I was right about being followed. He’s called Deacon, and he’s been following me for some time. His testimony was crucial to gaining Desdemona’s trust - the leader. Killing a Courser is no small feat. She let me in, and introduced me to a man called Tinker Tom. He’s their technical genius, building weapons and armor, and most importantly studying every bit of Institute technology they can salvage. He decoded the chip. I have what I came for.

And yet. I stand in the steeple of the church, two lanterns lit, looking at the silhouette of the Prydwen in the distance. “One if by land, two if by sea.” It’s an airship, but a ship. I need to know what the Railroad are all about, how far their operations extend, and what they have planned for the other forces of the Commonwealth. I’m here. I’m in. I may as well take advantage of the opportunity.


	15. Deacon

**Entry 60**

Deacon asked me to come with him on a mission to recover some technology from the former Railroad headquarters. It would make a good impression to the rest of The Railroad, and he seemed genuinely excited to see what the “Courser-killer” could do. Valentine and I met him at the designated spot, discovering him in a mediocre disguise as a wastelander. I say mediocre, because I knew what to look for, but I certainly know that the success of a disguise lies in the act, not the costume. Deacon was not acting the part while he waited for us. He certainly did when he managed to follow me unseen.

The Railroad was formerly based under a doughnut shop, as unlikely as that sounds. They believed it to be secure. In under a minute, Institute forces breached the doors and turned it into a shooting gallery. The survivors didn’t have time to grab anything, so we were returning to retrieve a prototype… device. We weren’t informed what exactly we were getting, only that the Railroad’s doctor needed it.

We were successful, endearing us to Desdemona and the rest of the Railroad - though, honestly, she might have found it more impressive that I refused to let Deacon embellish our accomplishments. Deacon’s primary function within the Railroad is intel, a job made easier if no one knows who he is, so he frequently acts in disguise, and often lies… to everyone, not just people outside the Railroad. Whether a paranoid precaution or a symptom of psychopathy, I haven’t yet determined.

The doctor has asked for my help with the latest synth rescue. The contact is a trader based in Bunker Hill called Old Man Stockton. I was only too happy for the opportunity. After all, I’ve met his daughter.

Valentine will remain behind as Deacon and I meet Stockton. He seems fascinated by the operation, and no doubt finds it refreshing to be surrounded by people who aren’t instantly suspicious of synths, but he remains an outsider, though a welcome one. I overheard him chatting with Tom, indulging the tinkerer’s more… extreme viewpoints. The man is a conspiracy theorist, except the secret organization he’s terrified of actually exists. Then again, Tom also believes in aliens. I’m not going to encourage him, even though he’s right, no matter how fun Valentine might find it to hint at things he’s seen.

 

**Entry 61**

Desdemona held a brief meeting to talk to everyone about the presence of the Brotherhood in the Commonwealth. They noticed the Prydwen, how could they not, and Desdemona officially declared the Brotherhood a threat. As the Brotherhood considers synths abominations, this is understandable, though I sincerely doubt Maxson has much concern for a dozen people in a church… for now. Desdemona mentioned a special operation Tom is designing, something called Red Flare, but that’s not their objective at the moment, nor is it mine. The focus is on the Institute, as it should be.

I assisted the delivery of a synth called H2-22. He told me a bit about life inside the Institute. He was a maintenance worker. He was expected to act like a machine - talk when spoken to and for clarification of orders. Obey the scientists. He didn’t know where the Institute is located. True to what Valentine said, no synth knows. How H2 got out was the one thing he wouldn’t talk about. There is clearly someone inside who is trying to help.

His contact in the Railroad was an agent called High Rise. High Rise mentioned that rescued synths need a “change of face,” their serial numbers removed so the institute can’t track them as easily. Some synths also choose a whole new set of memories to go with it, for extra protection. It is no great feat of deduction to reason who the provider of those memories is. I doubt many people in the Commonwealth have access to a wide range of real memories from paying customers, and the technology to extract and record those memories.

High Rise also took a moment to caution Deacon not to “give the rookie too much shit.” I nearly laughed at being called a rookie at subterfuge, but of course they could have no idea, and what would be the point in enlightening them?

 

**Entry 62**

Deacon mentioned he enjoyed having someone at his back instead of ‘flying solo’, though given his discomfort with heights I’m not sure he grasps the full meaning of that idiom, and followed with how I’m an excellent candidate for a Railroad agent because I have no one to risk. No family or livelihood to put in danger for the cause. I was less than encouraged. He quickly backtracked when I pressed the loss of my son, but reiterated his point by claiming that synths like him and others don’t have anything to lose. It’s a benefit in the fight.

He was of course lying about being a synth. Given that Deacon is considered by everyone around him to be an incurable liar, I would have expected such even had he not tipped his hand. I don’t know his motivations, I don’t know why he chose this cause of all others, but whatever it is, he seems dedicated. If only he were less… dramatic. A good portion of my own life has been spent in disguise, but Deacon revels in the extremes.

He describes the Railroad as one big dysfunctional family, with guns. This seems to fit. The variety of personalities involved make it seem a miracle anything gets done at all. Most of the work I’ve done so far has involved securing safehouses, gathering information, clearing out caches of weaponry and supplies. There is a strict policy of compartmentalization of information here. Desdemona says it’s vital to the secrecy and security of the organization, which is true enough I suppose, however it is irksome not to have all the details in front of me, to rely on - no, to trust - someone else to give me all relevant information rather than relying on my own senses, my own reason. Maybe Deacon’s incessant face-changing is born out of frustration, rather than paranoia. Or perhaps he simply enjoys messing with everyone.

Deacon: ( _distant_ ) Why pick just one reason?

 

**Entry 63**

( _Recording starts suddenly, with the sound of heavy impact against the Pip-Boy_ )

\- HUMAN!!! ( _gunshots_ ) THIS IS THE AGE OF THE SUPER MUTANT!

Deacon: And here I was wanting to spend the day reading Proust. ( _gunshots, mutant grunts, wordless shouts of pain_ ) And then you had to ruin it!

( _whoosh of flame_ )

Deacon: What -! I did not see that coming.

( _hard object hitting hard object_ )

( _gunshot_ ) 

( _loud thunk_ )

( _rush of air stops. silence._ )

Deacon: So. Are we having fun yet?

Holmes: ( _touch out of breath_ ) Are you ever not?

Deacon: Yes. There are some things in life that are distinctly not fun. Watching you fight a super mutant with a flaming sword is not one of those things.

( _walking_ )

Deacon: Good day. Secure a safehouse, help out a bunch of settlers, and kill a bunch of mutants. This has to be a pretty feather in your General hat.

Holmes: I would have helped the settlers regardless.

Deacon: I know, I know. Teasing. I just never much cared for the Minutemen. The idea sounds great, but give small men big power, and sometimes you’ll pay for it. Don’t get me wrong - love the job you’re doing with them. Historically, they’ve been little better than policemen, though.

Holmes: There’s great potential for them to be more than that this time around.

Deacon: Why, because they’ve got you? I mean, you did seem to win the genetic lottery or something, but -

Holmes: No, not me. I may hold the title of General, but I’m not the believer.

Deacon: You gonna tell me who this mysterious moral backbone is, or do I get to guess?

Holmes: His name is Preston Garvey. I’d trust him with my life.

Deacon: Wow. Sorry, sorry, that came out really sarcastic. No disrespect, never met the guy. But… well. Believers. You know?

Holmes: And are the Railroad not a band of believers of a sort?

Deacon: We’re not out to save the world. Too big a job for too few. But we’re trying to make it a better one, one synth at a time. And care about the little guys, maybe lend a hand on the side. Not as much as some would like. But hey, it’s something.

Holmes: You didn’t answer my question.

Deacon: I’m pretty sure I did. You asked a question, I said a series of statements, mostly on topic. That’s how that works, right?

Holmes: ( _light scoff, amused_ ) If you didn’t believe in what you fight for, why would you fight for it? There’s no profit in spiriting synths out of the Commonwealth, and a multitude of less deadly, or even more deadly, methods to escape boredom.

Deacon: … ok, I got nothing. First time that’s ever happened. 

… You know, all the organizations out there… they’re all gonna feed you their own patented form of bullshit. The Brotherhood… well, I met them on an op in Capital Wasteland a few years back, but now? With Elder Maxson… let’s just say, not a fan. And the Institute. I know you’re going to head after them eventually. Don’t think I really need to say much about them. But my point is that I hope you ignore all the verbiage people throw at you and look at what they’re doing. What they’re asking you to do. What sort of world they’d have you build and how they’re going to pay for it.

Holmes: ( _a bit stunned_ ) I believe that is the first thing to come out of your mouth that wasn’t coated in sarcastic honey.

Deacon: ( _laughs_ )

 

**Entry 64**

Upon our return to the Railroad’s headquarters, we found Desdemona and Dr. Carrington deep in discussion about the latest synth rescue. H2-22’s escape route had been compromised. First generation synths had been spotted in the Malden Center underground metro station. They needed to be eliminated, as there wasn’t time to find a new secure route. I volunteered myself for the job, and by extension Deacon. Valentine joined us on the way out, eager to hit the road again rather than spend the day in the company of agents. Deacon was reticent at first. He got over it when Valentine told him he already knew Amari was working with the Railroad, seeing as how she sent us to them in the first place, and a discarded synth is the last person they need to worry about spilling covert secrets.

We had to go to Goodneighbor first to inform Dr. Amari of the plan to move H2-22. She in turn informed me H2 had chosen to replace his memories along with changing his face, and the procedure was a success. I wouldn’t recognize him, and he wouldn’t recognize me… and, apparently, he left a holotape for me. I was one of the first people to ever talk to him, to have a conversation with him and not just give orders. I made an impression. He wanted to say goodbye. … I may understand a little better why so many synths decide to change their memories. He spoke of nightmares. Being afraid. “Worse than fear.” …

One synth who kept her memories is an agent called Glory. I have a difficult time imagining that woman afraid of anything. When we arrived at Malden Center, Glory was there as well. Apparently, someone else in the Railroad heard about the problem and sent her to take care of it as well. “Crossed wires,” she called it. She was amused, and suggested we team up. There was no reason to say no, especially given how little information we had about the situation we were about to walk into.

Glory is what the Railroad calls a “heavy,” and has all the subtlety of the minigun she wields. It’s effective, if overly destructive. She also despaired of fighting the first generation synths, being of the opinion that earlier generations of synth are on the same level as earlier evolutions of mankind. Valentine was not pleased with being compared to a Cro-Magnon, Glory protested he was a “Gen 2.5 or something” but the raiders living inside the station attacked and we didn’t have time for debate.

You’d think that whoever reported the synth presence might have made mention of the raiders in residence as well. It worked to our favor, ironically, with the raiders and synths fighting each other, lessening the numbers we had to deal with. At last, the station was clear of any dangers. Glory was pleased, and congratulated us on a job well done. We returned to headquarters to report the success. H2-22, or whatever his new name is, can leave the Commonwealth and begin a new life in relative safety.

 

**Entry 65**

It’s time for me to go. I can’t deny the importance of the work the Railroad is doing, and I’m glad I had the opportunity to learn as much as I could about an organization that compartmentalizes information to such a paranoid extent, but I can’t delay any longer. They decoded the Courser’s chip, and I have repaid my debt in full. It’s time to go west -

Deacon: So this is where you got to.

Holmes: You knew full well.

Deacon: I knew you were probably writing in your diary in the steeple again, but I didn’t know you’d be leaving. I mean, I knew you’d leave eventually, you’ve got other shit to deal with. The whole finding your son thing. But after how well Malden went, the lucky streak we’ve been on, kind of hoped you might stick around a little longer.

Holmes: I can’t.

Deacon: Yeah, I know. ( _awkward_ ) Seeing as how you’re leaving, uh… I got something important to say.

Holmes: … yes?

Deacon: ( _hesitant, somber; this is hard._ ) I… I really appreciate you putting up with my bullshit. Truth is it’s been a long time since I’ve had a… friend. I’m a liar. Everyone knows it. I make no secret of it. Because t̵́h̸́ẻ̷̔ ̶̛̜t̷͛r̶u̵̅̕t̸h̴ ̶̐̋͝is̴:Ḯ̸̧̮́͂̀̕ͅ'̴̨̮̩̣̱̥̺̭͖̥̃m̵͗̀̈

( _heavy distortion_ ) 

Ṡ̴̈́͘oṙ̷r̵̛̐̂͘y, messing with your stuff, please don’t hate me. Should have asked you to turn this damn thing off, but I was distracted. I really don’t want there to be any record of our conversation. I’m glad I told you, but… You unders̴t̶a̷̿n̶̂͗d̶̓. 

( _heavy distortion_ ) 

t̷́͘h̵̽i̴̓͆s̶͝ ̵͒w̶̆̈̑h̸̓ȏ̷̏̌l̴͝e fucking Commonwealth. You’re the only friend I got. I don’t deserve you being ok with this. Hell, I’m not even asking for it. But I figured you should know. 

Holmes: Deacon… ( _sigh_ ) You make it exceedingly difficult to know what to believe. 

Deacon: I can imagine. Listen, even if you don’t believe anything else… know that you’re my friend. Maybe my only one. When shit goes down, I’m with you to the end. So, yeah. Good talk.

( _footsteps on the stair_ ) 

Holmes: Why now? You might never see me again. 

Deacon: Doesn’t change anything. Thought you should know. And hey, ( _coy_ ) just because you don’t see me doesn’t mean I won’t see you. Good luck, Detective. 


	16. Vault 81

**Entry 66**

We’ve stopped for the night at a marina. Its sole occupant is a woman named Phyllis, who thinks she’s a synth. She lost her daughter and was living with some settlers on a farm with her grandson when he died. She thinks she killed him. She probably did, no one else was seen in the area after the gunshot. Her immediate conclusion was that she must be a synth, and that the Institute somehow made her kill him. Judging by her diary, it’s much more likely that she fell asleep on watch and accidentally shot him during a nightmare. Valentine’s with her now, making small talk. She can’t hurt him, after all, and it’s clearly been far too long since she had anyone to talk to. I told her she’d be welcome with the Minutemen. I could lay out a perfectly rational argument for the likelihood that she is human and her grandson’s death was an accident… but I’m not sure that would help. If this is how she’s been coping for years… she’ll work it out on her own, one way or another, as long as she doesn’t just stay hidden away here, haunted.

It’s interesting that the idea of being controlled by the Institute was so immediately plausible to her mind. No one knows anything about the Institute apart from being a technologically advanced organization that employs synths to do its work in the Commonwealth. Can they remotely control their synths, make them do things from a distance? Are synths programmed to perform certain actions, or is it just a matter of synths being asked, ordered, and then expected to comply? H2-22 made it seem like they were perfectly capable of making their own decisions, of refusing orders, but didn’t out of fear, or perhaps not even realizing that was an option. Glory certainly has a mind of her own. If the Institute can control their synths, why would they run away in the first place? This, in turn, begs the question… why make them? Why replace people with them? Do they simply trust that their synths will remain loyal? Do Institute agents appear out of the shadows to whisper secret codes to activate deeply embedded protocols? What is the point of it all? Why does the Institute even exist, what do they hope to accomplish?

Why make a synth? Why steal my son?

 

**Entry 67**

Virgil has drawn up schematics for a device that will teleport me into the Institute, using the code from the Courser chip to hijack the signal broadcast over the classical radio station; the Institute’s cover. I’ll never be able to listen to Wagner the same way again. First, though, I have to build the damn thing. Virgil is a bioscientist, and I am hardly an engineer. I’ll need help.

The Brotherhood are the most technically qualified, however I can’t risk giving them plans for even more technology. God knows what they’d do with a teleporter. I don’t trust Maxson. Tinker Tom has previous experience with Institute technology, but unfortunately I don’t entirely trust the Railroad, either. Not their cause, I will always support them in that to the extent that I am able, however my primary goal is learning what happened to my son. I cannot afford to take orders on a need-to-know basis concerning whatever goal they would hope to achieve. I hate having a mystery at both ends of a case.

When it comes down to it, both the Brotherhood and the Railroad are more concerned with their respective causes than the problems of a single man. I must be certain that I can trust whoever builds this thing to do it without ulterior motives, without covert plans in the making, without bureaucratic infighting and questions. In short, I need someone willing to help simply for the sake of helping… and there is only one group of people I’ve met who qualify.

It’s time the General returned home.

 

**Entry 68**

( _muffled from recording in power armor_ )

If I never have to trek through miles of irradiated wasteland again, it will be too soon. Our way back to civilization, we were beset by a squad of radscorpions, a pair of stingwings, and an angry swarm of mole rats, delaying our progress. The power armor protecting me from the radiation of the Glowing Sea suffered enough damage to cease performing that function. Thus, the sudden onset of a radioactive thunderstorm caused us to seek shelter, further throwing us off course. … Valentine, what are you looking for?

Valentine: Vault 81 should be around here somewhere.

Holmes: Vault 81?

Valentine: Friendliest vault in the Commonwealth.

Holmes: ( _scoff_ ) By what scale do you judge ‘friendliest’?

Valentine: They don’t shoot on sight.

Holmes: Ha. A good start. Why do you want to find it?

Valentine: I heard about it from a trader I met on the road coming home from a case one time. Never did get her name. Thought they might have some Radaways they can spare. Stimpaks. Food, water. Basic human needs.

Holmes: We’ve delayed enough -

Valentine: You falling over from exhaustion isn’t going to help.

Holmes: I believe it is technically impossible for me to fall over from exhaustion in this suit. The hydraulics would keep me upright.

Valentine: Very clever, wise guy… ah, here we are. We’ll re-supply and move on, what do you say?

Holmes: ( _sigh_ )

 

Entry 69

( _Some wind, footsteps. Holmes is recording while walking._ )

Vault 81 is what a Vault has all the potential to look like, bereft of any ulterior immoral motives. Was this a design of Vault Tec, one Vault to go right, or did something happen in the last 200 years? They remain isolated, but maintain a semi regular trade system with the Commonwealth. There’s even a symbol used by the Railroad to denote an ally to the side of the door.

I sent their security guards into a bit of a panic when I tried to open the door with my Pip-Boy, but the matter was settled by their Overseer, a woman named McNamara. She charged me three fusion cores for entry, which I happened to have on me, plus a spare to get the suit back to Sanctuary. I left the suit outside, out of consideration for the residents. I anticipated they would be discomfited by Valentine and I as it was, and didn’t want to add yet another reason for them to be nervous.

I was to be pleasantly surprised. Oh, there were a few typical comments from people, reacting to something new and strange, but the first person to strike up a conversation was a boy named Austin. He precociously offered to take me on a tour of the Vault, for a few caps. I was charmed, I admit it. Austin was well-mannered, and provided information on many of the Vault’s inhabitants. It was fascinating to see the sort of society that had developed over two hundred years. Vault-Tec’s vaults really could have worked.

Which almost makes their reality even more of an atrocity.

Well. I visited with the doctor, much to Valentine’s approval. And now I’m back out in the world… looking for a lost cat.

Valentine: ( _distant_ ) You got a real soft spot for kids, don’t you?

Holmes: You once got paid to find a client’s doll.

Valentine: Ha! I still haven’t gotten paid for that nonsense.

 

**Entry 70**

We returned from our quest for the wayward cat, successfully returning it to its owner, only to discover a bit of commotion in Vault 81’s medical bay. Dr. Forsythe was talking with the Overseer, and Austin’s grandmother. Austin was on an examination table, motionless. He’d been bitten by a mole rat, and contracted some sort of disease. Bobby DeLuca, one of the people working in the Vault’s reactor room, was explaining how he’d found Austin inside the hole in the wall DeLuca uses for his chem stash. Austin has a fondness for exploring every nook and cranny he can fit into. The addict went on to describe a portion of the Vault he’d never seen before. “A whole extra vault, but half ruined and caved in.” As this is where the unusual mole rat came from, this is where I am now walking. Austin needs a cure, and I have a horrible suspicion that this Vault was never intended to be a control. Whatever Vault-Tec had planned, it was walled off from the rest of the residents long ago. I only hope I can stop it from getting out. I’ll do whatever I have to in order to save that boy’s life… ( _keyboard clicking_ )

… what the devil?

According to this terminal, Vault 81 engaged in mole rat breeding as part of some sort of serum production… the Vault was designed to test drug treatments with mole rats as the test subjects. Why hide this from the rest of the inhabitants… unless the inhabitants were intended to be test subjects as well. The only way to test a universal cure would be to test it on a population of humans exposed to every disease known to man.

Damn you, Vault-Tec.

At some point, an Overseer must have developed a conscience and shut off the project from the rest of the Vault, though apparently the scientists continued their work. They had nothing else to do, I suppose. I hope, for Austin’s sake, that they were successful.

( _low rumble_ )

… clearly, the mole rats escaped and established a colony, though before or after the deaths of their caretakers I haven’t the slightest…

( _screech burst from earth_ )

( _gunshot_ )

( _gunshot_ )

( _gunshot_ )

Well then.

Valentine: Didn’t even break a sweat. … Not that that’s an option.

Holmes: Indeed. Onward, Valentine. Somewhere down here must be a lab with the information we need.

 

**Entry 71**

In the depths of the secret Vault, we discovered a Mr. Handy model robot, reprogrammed to be a scientific assistant with a French accent. Her name is Curie. Two hundred years ago, a lab rat got out, killed the scientists, and now his descendants are the rats whose disease infected Austin… and now infects me. The last rat we encountered before finding the lab managed to bite. I instantly felt a strange weakness, but no further ill effect. More of a general malaise, slight fatigue. I have no way of knowing if this is merely the first symptom of a much larger and potentially deadly disease, but… ( _sigh_ ) Curie continued her work after her colleagues' death. There was a cure. There was also only one unexpired dose left.

I suppose I’ll find out whether or not this mole rat pathogen is fatal to adult humans. I already knew it to be capable of killing children. I refused to let that happen.

The cure was a success. Austin is making a remarkable recovery, and I’ve become something of a celebrity within the Vault. Overseer McNamara even made accommodations available to me should I ever desire to visit. I might. It would be refreshing to see Austin again, and sleep in a place where nothing wants to kill me, but not until after I’ve finished what I need to do. On to Sanctuary… with an additional companion in tow.

Curie was happy to be released from the lab. Her primary programming seems to be the scientific study of… anything? Her background is medical, pathological studies specifically, but her curiosity is immense. She feared stagnating if she remained in the Vault’s isolation. I sympathize. She does have some defensive capabilities, and her medical skills would be useful to any settlement. Therefore, she’s coming with us.

 

**Entry 72**

Sturges was skeptical, but he says he can build the molecular relay, the teleportation device. “No matter how crazy the theory, in the end it all comes down to engineering.” We’re constructing it here in Sanctuary. He gave me a list of materials to gather, most of which could be salvaged from the scrap around the neighborhood. It’s also going to require a large amount of power - “a spare nuclear reactor” quantity, as it was described to me. We set to work, clearing away one of the collapsed buildings to make space for this device to be built. Valentine was instrumental, as he doesn’t tire, and didn’t mind a bit of manual labor. He even took his coat off and rolled up his sleeves, though his hat remained firmly on his head. Codsworth’s assistance was also procured for the construction, as Curie looked over the design with critical eye. Eyes.

It’s going to take some time, but this feels like it might truly work. We made good progress today. I feel… hopeful. Anticipating finally discovering the truth of what happened. There is some small dread, as must come with the utterly unknown. Yet… I don’t even know if the device will work or not, but I simply can’t help it. I’m nervous. Hopeful. 

And terrified.


	17. Father

**Entry 73**

Curie approached me last night after spending the day watching Sturges utilize a variety of household objects to engineer a control console. His creativity must have made something of an impression, because she spent at least an hour of the evening shut down. Codsworth assured me she was fine, simply running a thorough self-diagnostic. Her results were… interesting. Curie has come to the conclusion that she can never be a great scientist, and there will never be a great robot scientist, because robots lack the human capacity for inspiration.

To her credit, Curie is not content to simply exist stifled by her own fundamental limitations. She seems to genuinely desire to advance her understanding of medicine, and more, and to become a great innovator in her field. In order to do this, she must become capable of inspiration… thus, she comes to the only logical conclusion she can, and wants to download everything she is into a human brain.

To say I was surprised by her declaration would be an understatement. What’s worse is that I instantly thought of someone who might be able to help, if we can convince her we’re not joking. The question, of course, is “should I?” If I assume it is possible in the first place, for Curie to become human would require a human brain. I doubt Dr. Amari keeps any spares. However, if by some miracle this operation could be undertaken without the loss of human life, what would the implications be for Curie? As it stands, she is a very sophisticated piece of machinery… though where does that line lay? Valentine is as much a person as anyone, yet he is mechanical. His mind is different, functioning as a human’s rather than programmed to serve as Codsworth. He is capable of free will. I’m not certain if Codsworth is or not. He’s never refused to do anything. Questioned, yes, but always complied. Then again, I’ve never ordered him to do anything atrocious, either.

( _sigh_ ) I’m a detective, not a philosopher. Let us begin by discovering if it is even possible for Curie to become human in the first place. I am of no use to Sturges at this point in the construction. Curie and I can go to Goodneighbor while he continues tweaking his creations.

 

**Entry 74**

Dr. Amari was shocked, and possibly offended, at the idea. However, after a moment of talking with Curie, her scientific curiosity was spurred into action. A human brain would be impossible, but the brain of a synth was a distinct possibility. Amari happened to know of a potential, ah, donor. One of the synths liberated from the Institute had come for her memories to be changed, but the procedure had failed, leaving the synth in a vegetative state. The brain and body are perfectly intact, but no longer functioning. Amari said she would contact the synth’s caretaker and find out if they would be willing to let her try transferring Curie’s personality into the brain.

I wasn’t expecting the patient’s caretaker to be Glory, of all people. Glory had tried to convince her friend, G5, not to undergo the procedure, to live as herself, but G5 was scared. I suspect Glory blames herself for her friend’s condition, but she gave her consent for Curie’s transfer, though unhappy about it. It was successful. I admit, I was surprised, and fascinated. Perhaps uneasy, as well. Curie will have to learn the limitations and functions of her new body. Glory felt she had made a mistake. Nothing I said could reassure her otherwise… perhaps because I’m not certain of it myself. I support Curie’s desire to… evolve, I suppose, but to see a whole new set of memories be so seamlessly placed in a body… watching the procedure made me think of Valentine, a human’s memories in a mechanical body. It borders a little too close to playing God. At least this was Curie’s choice, unlike Valentine. Therein may lay all the difference.

Well. What’s done is done, and at the very least I need to get Curie back to Sanctuary. I know she wants to explore the world, but before she can do that, she has to learn how to take care of herself. The people in Sanctuary are perfect to teach her.

 

**Entry 75**

Sturges has finished. Whenever I’m ready, I can have my atoms scattered across space and reconstructed within the Institute’s walls. It is not an appealing idea, but it’s my only chance. There’s no way to test it without alerting the Institute, so I simply have to trust Virgil’s schematics and Sturges’s engineering.

Valentine: ( _faintly_ ) You’re not getting cold feet, are you?

Holmes: Far from it. I simply abhor going into a situation knowing nothing about what to expect… and I’m not thrilled with the method of travel, I admit.

Valentine: Heh, I don’t blame you. ( _forced lightness_ ) Hey, Holmes. Do me a favor. Once you’re in there, remember the looks on the faces of those Institute goons.

Holmes: ( _appreciative_ ) I’ll give you a full description, Valentine.

 

**Entry 76**

.

s̡͍̜͈̠̩̹̊̅̄̾̊̄z̵̨̡̧͙͉̟͕̜͇͑̿̐̒̋͢͠z̷̜̙̖̹̯̝̘̼̳͇̈́̽͆̎̽̐̓̂͝Z̭̺̳̰̳̭͇̻̺̺͋͆̓̇͘͝ị̴̧̨͇͈̮̣̳͆̽̅͘S͉͉̪̰̱͆̓̑̈̇̅͜͡s̨̢̼̹̲̳̻̓̄̽̉͂͐͛̓̈́͜ͅḩ̶͖̖̞͚͓͈̼̲͊̓͛̈́̒͗̾̃̄͢͝ẅ̬̣̣̖̈́̎͐̊͑͢ͅ

.

…

( _whispered_ ) It worked. My god, it worked.

( _Slow footsteps. Slotting holotape in, soft beeping, holotape ejecting. Footsteps._ ) 

( _voice from a speaker - calm, male_ ) Hello. 

Voice: I wondered if you might make it here. You’re quite resourceful. 

Holmes: ( _muttered_ ) You have no idea. 

Voice: I am known as Father; the Institute is under my guidance. I know why you’re here. I’d like to discuss things with you, face-to-face. Please, step into the elevator. I assure you, no harm will come to you. 

…

All I want is for us to have a conversation. Please, let’s just talk. 

Holmes: ( _sigh_ ) I haven’t much choice, have I? 

( _gentle whir of an elevator, soft_ ) 

Voice: I can only imagine what you’ve heard, what you think of us. I’d like to show you that you may have… the wrong impression. Welcome to the Institute. 

Holmes: ( _sheer awe_ ) … good lord. 

Voice: This is the reality of the Institute. This place, these people, the work we do. For over a hundred years, we’ve dedicated ourselves to humanity’s survival. Decades of research, countless experiments and trials… A shared vision of how science can help shape the future. It has never been easy, and our actions are often misinterpreted by those above ground. Someday, perhaps, we can show them what we’ve accomplished. But for now, we must remain underground. There’s too much at stake here to risk it all. As you’ve seen, things above are… unstable. I’d like to talk to you about what we can do… for everyone. But that can wait. You are here for a specific, very personal reason. You are here for your son. 

( _elevator stops_ ) 

Holmes: ( _to himself_ ) Teleporting triggers recording. Wouldn’t want to be… ( _dark humor_ ) misinterpreted. 

( _click_ ) 


	18. The Institute

**Entry 77**

I have avoided recording since my arrival because up to this point there was no moment where I could be completely alone. Even now, there is no way for me to be certain I’m not being listened to through some hidden microphone, watched by hidden camera… but if there is any place in the Institute that qualifies as abandoned, it is here. I found Virgil’s lab. Experimentation with the Forced Evolution Virus continued long after scientists stopped having any breakthroughs. They repeatedly asked to stop, but were denied, until Virgil turned himself into a mutant and ran. I’m not sure if the lab was destroyed in the fight, or afterward… or if perhaps Virgil’s grasp on his humanity is more tenuous than I believed. It is horrific, either way.

This place… not this lab, but the Institute itself. The Institute is a marvel of scientific technology. I’ve never seen such perfection, every image of what scientific advancement could bring, an underground facility far more advanced than anything anyone in the wasteland could even begin to dream of. The way of life down here… the Commonwealth would want for nothing if the Institute had an ounce of compassion. As it is, the Director is perfectly content remaining below ground, preserving his easily controlled version of humanity. Synths were never built to have free will. They’re tools. Slaves. The Institute hides in the center of all its machinations, taking what it needs from the surface and giving nothing back. The contempt, or even worse, simple apathetic dismissal that most of the scientists here feel for the surface… not all of them. A few want to use their technology for good, to help the humanity that is currently surviving rather than trying to perfect it in isolation, but far too few. And at their head… The Director. Who they call “Father.”

He’s been watching my progress. Those damn crows. He asked me to stay, to give the Institute a chance to prove their true, good intentions. I explored, half in shock, hardly aware of what I was doing. Then I saw a scientist talking to a synth. She resembled Curie - perhaps that’s why I stopped to listen. Whatever the reason, he had just injected her with some sort of… I’m not sure. Whatever it was, he didn’t know what the effects would be. She asked if there would be pain. He said he didn’t know. Her response was “I hope I prove to be a useful test subject for you.” His response was a noncommittal sound of dismissal. Not the slightest concern in the least.

At that moment, my explorations became much more pointed. As I was given free range of literally every place in the Institute, I took full advantage of it. I explored every department. Facilities is constantly worried about power consumption. The Synthetic Retention Bureau manages the Coursers, employed primarily to bring back runaway synths and to eliminate external threats to Institute interests. Interestingly, the Mayor of Diamond City is not only a synth, but a spy for the Institute. Piper was right, after all.

Advanced Systems is in charge of technological research and development, and is responsible for the teleportation relay. They also work on advancements in weapons, armor, and apparently anything else they can think of. Robotics build the synths. It is a massive, automated construction. Skeleton, musculature, skin. The process is both impressive and terrifying. I overheard one scientist, Dr. Binet, trying to discuss with a colleague whether or not synths have souls. He seems to think they might, that they are human, if grown ones. He also has his own ‘personal synth.’ A woman, supposedly an experiment to integrate a synth into a human family. Eve is a replacement for his dead wife. She knows what she is and doesn’t expect to ever fulfill the role completely. I wonder if he loves her. If he’s trying to.

Bioscience raises food and has built a pair of synthetic gorillas. Why gorillas? This is one of the worst possible choices! I can only assume that Dr. Holden saw a picture of a gorilla once and decided it looked promising without bothering to research the creature’s behavioral patterns. Why create a creature that can and will tear you apart if it feels threatened or thinks its authority is challenged? Such hubris.

I digress.

Adjoining Bioscience is the now abandoned FEV laboratory, where I now stand. A pair of super mutants are suspended in softly illuminated fluid-filled chambers, forgotten… or ignored. It’s clear no one has been in here since Virgil got out, not even to salvage equipment or data. A dead end, in every meaning of the phrase.

I have seen great potential for humanity here. The technology is amazing. But I’ve seen precious little to disabuse the notion of the Institute as a thing to be feared. Rather than work with the people of the Commonwealth, they replace people with their synths without concern. They create synths to be slaves, easily controlled. When one displays independent behavior, they destroy it and try again. Ever the quest for their definition of perfection, yet continuing experiments long past their usefulness, releasing mutant savages on the people above. There are a few here who think a bit differently, but so many are content to never consider the implication of their actions. No one has even ever been above the surface, apart from the Coursers. Humanity survives, it struggles but it survives, and they do nothing to help under the comfort of being ‘misunderstood.’

If I am at least non-hostile, then the Director seems perfectly willing to let me investigate his organization to my heart’s content. The more I know, the better prepared I can be for the future.

 

**Entry 78**

.  
s̡͍̜͈̠̩̹̊̅̄̾̊̄z̵̨̡̧͙͉̟͕̜͇͑̿̐̒̋͢͠z̷̜̙̖̹̯̝̘̼̳͇̈́̽͆̎̽̐̓̂͝Z̭̺̳̰̳̭͇̻̺̺͋͆̓̇͘͝ị̴̧̨͇͈̮̣̳͆̽̅͘S͉͉̪̰̱͆̓̑̈̇̅͜͡s̨̢̼̹̲̳̻̓̄̽̉͂͐͛̓̈́͜ͅḩ̶͖̖̞͚͓͈̼̲͊̓͛̈́̒͗̾̃̄͢͝ẅ̬̣̣̖̈́̎͐̊͑͢ͅ  
.

( _vertibird overhead; rapid gunfire and laser weapon blasts_ )

Damn - agh! 

( _muffled scrambling through the gunfire_ )

( _muttered_ ) A downside to teleportation I hadn’t anticipated.

 

**Entry 79**

.  
s̡͍̜͈̠̩̹̊̅̄̾̊̄z̵̨̡̧͙͉̟͕̜͇͑̿̐̒̋͢͠z̷̜̙̖̹̯̝̘̼̳͇̈́̽͆̎̽̐̓̂͝Z̭̺̳̰̳̭͇̻̺̺͋͆̓̇͘͝ị̴̧̨͇͈̮̣̳͆̽̅͘S͉͉̪̰̱͆̓̑̈̇̅͜͡s̨̢̼̹̲̳̻̓̄̽̉͂͐͛̓̈́͜ͅḩ̶͖̖̞͚͓͈̼̲͊̓͛̈́̒͗̾̃̄͢͝ẅ̬̣̣̖̈́̎͐̊͑͢ͅ  
.

( _deep breathing_ )

That will never stop being singularly disorienting.

 

**Entry 80**

( _empty static_ )

It’s amazing the difference a clean bed and sheets makes to a night’s rest. A shower.

( _sigh_ ) The Director asked for my help. An escaped synth had taken over a group of raiders in a place called Libertalia. He wanted me to help return it to the Institute. The synth’s memories had been wiped and replaced by the Railroad. The new man unfortunately fell in with raiders and rose to the top. Humans are flawed. Greed is a powerful influence. Once a person is given free will, there is no way to ensure that free will is used well. The Railroad is not to blame for this man becoming a raider, despite The Director’s assertion that synths should never be given free will. It’s ‘unpredictable.’ People are unpredictable everywhere… except perhaps here in these stainless walls.

I agreed to help, more out of a desire to stop a dangerous man than anything else. It was a fitting setting, I suppose. Libertalia was founded by a Minuteman named James Wire. He and his men broke away when the former General died and the Minutemen fell apart. They took over the wreck of a flotilla and tried to make a home out of it. Then the food ran out. Deals with the caravans from Bunker Hill went south. So, they switched to force, out of desperation and anger. Soon, they had new recruits, wanting to join the Libertalia raiders. Wire knew his old General would have been sick to see what his men had become… but they were alive, and the Minutemen were dead.

I arrived to find the Courser assigned to work with me, X6-88, engaged in combat with not only the raiders, but the Brotherhood of Steel. I hid. I watched, and did nothing, until the raiders were dead and the Brotherhood vertibird was at the bottom of the ocean. Had I aided the Brotherhood, my welcome in the Institute would have ended right then and there. I’d hoped they’d be able to defeat the Courser themselves. The whole affair left a foul taste on the back of my tongue, even now. What hope does the Brotherhood have against the Institute if they cannot even defeat a single Courser?

X6-88 provided a reset code. All synths have one. Speak it, and the synth’s cognitive capabilities shut down. I did. We returned to the Institute. The Director was pleased and showed me to the quarters he’d arranged for my stay. And here I am.

I don’t know what I’m going to do next.

Virgil is running out of time, I have his serum in hand, and the ability to teleport anywhere from the Institute. I have a holotape full of data I must return to Sturges. No one has thought to search me, though I have no idea what manner of surveillance technology might be in place. Maybe they already know everything on my person, and simply don’t care. They are that secure in their superiority.

I’ll deliver the serum; that much at least is a concrete action I can take. Then…

He wants to talk to me again. The Director. I don’t know what it will be about, but can I afford to say no? As long as I remain in his good graces, I have unfettered access to this place. To him… I don’t dare hope that I could convince him to change his mind about the surface. About the nature of a person, of a soul. I’ve become intimately acquainted with what a synth’s soul is like, if they’re permitted to have one. The best man I know is a machine. But the Director is an old man, set in his ideas about synths as property. He seems to be sincere when he talks of preserving humanity… but it is a preservation under his own strict guidelines and definitions.

I’m fairly certain every single person I consider a friend in the Commonwealth would find this place stifling after a while. Even the Prydwen, for all its military orderliness, has an atmosphere of camaraderie that is sorely lacking here. It’s so… sterile. But it is safe. Shelter, food (of a sort), family. No shortage of work to keep one occupied. No fear. The people here are safe and secure, for their whole lives.

( _bitterly_ ) And I’m going to rip that all away from them.

There has to be another way. There has to be some way of making them understand that the surface is not the threat, that monsters are born of apathy as readily as anger.


	19. Revelations

**Entry 81**

.  
s̡͍̜͈̠̩̹̊̅̄̾̊̄z̵̨̡̧͙͉̟͕̜͇͑̿̐̒̋͢͠z̷̜̙̖̹̯̝̘̼̳͇̈́̽͆̎̽̐̓̂͝Z̭̺̳̰̳̭͇̻̺̺͋͆̓̇͘͝ị̴̧̨͇͈̮̣̳͆̽̅͘S͉͉̪̰̱͆̓̑̈̇̅͜͡s̨̢̼̹̲̳̻̓̄̽̉͂͐͛̓̈́͜ͅḩ̶͖̖̞͚͓͈̼̲͊̓͛̈́̒͗̾̃̄͢͝ẅ̬̣̣̖̈́̎͐̊͑͢ͅ  
.

( _rattling machinery fades, a Protectron unintelligible in the distance_ )

Virgil: ( _gruff, but amused_ ) Well. I’m glad to see the relay didn’t completely vaporize you.

Holmes: It did, but I managed to pull myself back together.

Virgil: ( _chuckle_ ) I suppose you did. Now, what about the serum? Did you find it?

Holmes: I’ve got it right here.

Virgil: That’s it! That’s really it! All right. Let’s see, let’s see… Retrovirus has matured nicely. Density gradient is high… Recombinant counter-intron sequences look stable… Transcriptive exon strands have formed…

Holmes: How are you going to test it?

Virgil: On myself, of course. That was the plan. This serum will only counteract the specific strain of FEV that I infected myself with. There’s no telling what it might do to anyone else. All right. Here we go. ( _hiss of injection_ ) And now… we wait.

Holmes: How long will it take?

Virgil: I don’t know. Nothing like this has ever been tried before. ( _sigh_ ) I’m going to rest for a while. Come back in a few days, maybe a week, and… well, I guess we’ll see. In any event, you kept your end of our bargain. Thank you.

 

**Entry 82**

.  
s̡͍̜͈̠̩̹̊̅̄̾̊̄z̵̨̡̧͙͉̟͕̜͇͑̿̐̒̋͢͠z̷̜̙̖̹̯̝̘̼̳͇̈́̽͆̎̽̐̓̂͝Z̭̺̳̰̳̭͇̻̺̺͋͆̓̇͘͝ị̴̧̨͇͈̮̣̳͆̽̅͘S͉͉̪̰̱͆̓̑̈̇̅͜͡s̨̢̼̹̲̳̻̓̄̽̉͂͐͛̓̈́͜ͅḩ̶͖̖̞͚͓͈̼̲͊̓͛̈́̒͗̾̃̄͢͝ẅ̬̣̣̖̈́̎͐̊͑͢ͅ  
.

X6-88: ( _soft, terse_ ) Ah, there you are. Father wants to see you.

Holmes: I know. I don’t suppose he mentioned what about?

X6: No, sir.

Holmes: I suppose I shouldn’t keep him waiting.

X6: That would be unwise. Sir.

Holmes: I have a distinct impression you don’t care for me, X6-88.

X6: That is not my intention, sir.

Holmes: You don’t intend for me to notice. That doesn’t stop it from being true. ( _quiet, short laugh_ ) For heaven’s sake, I don’t care what you think of me, and I’d rather you be honest than not.

X6: … in that case, I was impressed with your efficiency at Libertalia, however I have a great many doubts concerning your capabilities and allegiance.

Holmes: Good.

X6: … sir?

Holmes: You should doubt me. You don’t know anything about me. It would speak poorly of the Institute if everyone functioned under some sort of blind faith in their… “Father.” ( _gratified_ ) I’m glad to hear that synths are capable of independent thought and sound logical judgement. Now, I’ve kept the Director waiting long enough.

 

**Entry 83**

The Railroad has stolen some synths. The Director is fully aware of my involvement with the Railroad but seems to bear me no ill will for it. In fact, he wants me to reacquire his stolen property, before the Railroad can hide them again. I’m certain I have been chosen for this task because he wants to test my loyalty. I’ve been perfectly civil so far, but has he swayed me to his way of seeing things? No better way to discover where we stand than asking me to betray those I’ve worked with before. The synths are in Bunker Hill. There is some concern that the Brotherhood might catch word of their presence, which would complicate matters for all parties as the Brotherhood of Steel would kill the synths. Time is of the essence. If I act quickly, I can warn Desdemona before the Institute strikes. Fortunately, I have access to a teleporter.

 

**Entry 84**

.  
s̡͍̜͈̠̩̹̊̅̄̾̊̄z̵̨̡̧͙͉̟͕̜͇͑̿̐̒̋͢͠z̷̜̙̖̹̯̝̘̼̳͇̈́̽͆̎̽̐̓̂͝Z̭̺̳̰̳̭͇̻̺̺͋͆̓̇͘͝ị̴̧̨͇͈̮̣̳͆̽̅͘S͉͉̪̰̱͆̓̑̈̇̅͜͡s̨̢̼̹̲̳̻̓̄̽̉͂͐͛̓̈́͜ͅḩ̶͖̖̞͚͓͈̼̲͊̓͛̈́̒͗̾̃̄͢͝ẅ̬̣̣̖̈́̎͐̊͑͢ͅ  
.

Drummer Boy: ( _surprised_ ) Detective? How’d you -

Holmes: Not now, Drummer Boy.

Drummer Boy: But Dez -

Holmes: Good, I need to talk to her, too.

 

**Entry 85**

Deacon somehow found out I’ve been to the Institute and brought it to Desdemona’s attention. She begged me to help the Railroad and is convinced the Minutemen would mutiny if ordered to protect a synth. I’m becoming remarkably tired of people telling me how people they’ve never had a conversation with would act in any given situation. I do not choose my friends lightly.

I gave some words of reassurance that I would continue to support the Railroad, and finally managed to warn her of the Institute’s plans. She, in turn, told me of an individual code-named Patriot who has been instrumental in getting synths out of the Institute. He is a helping hand inside. They don’t know who he is, but they want to find out.

I have a suspicion, but for now, I have to focus on getting four synths out of Bunker Hill without the Institute realizing I’ve sabotaged my own mission.

 

**Entry 86**

.  
s̡͍̜͈̠̩̹̊̅̄̾̊̄z̵̨̡̧͙͉̟͕̜͇͑̿̐̒̋͢͠z̷̜̙̖̹̯̝̘̼̳͇̈́̽͆̎̽̐̓̂͝Z̭̺̳̰̳̭͇̻̺̺͋͆̓̇͘͝ị̴̧̨͇͈̮̣̳͆̽̅͘S͉͉̪̰̱͆̓̑̈̇̅͜͡s̨̢̼̹̲̳̻̓̄̽̉͂͐͛̓̈́͜ͅḩ̶͖̖̞͚͓͈̼̲͊̓͛̈́̒͗̾̃̄͢͝ẅ̬̣̣̖̈́̎͐̊͑͢ͅ  
.

They’ve barricaded the memorial. Bunker Hill is in lock-down… ( _vertibird soars overhead_ ) … and the Brotherhood are here. How the devil did they know… that is a question for another time.

( _irregular footsteps - rush, stop, repeat._ )

X4-18: ( _curt_ ) I’ve been waiting for you.

Holmes: Thank you for doing so. Your name?

X4: My designation is X4-18. I assume you’ve been briefed? We move in, secure the synths, and I relay out with them back to the Institute. Clear?

Holmes: Perfectly.

X4: Remember, the synths are the primary objective. ( _becoming distant as he moves ahead_ ) Any threats between us and the target are to be eliminated.

Holmes: ( _heavy sigh_ ) Any threats.

( _rapid gunfire - X4-18 shouts in pain_ )

( _gunfire_ )

( _gunfire_ )

( _silence_ )

Holmes: Now to find the synths.

 

**Entry 87**

I wandered back toward the C.I.T. ruins, formulating the lie I would tell the Director. It would be easy to claim the synths were spirited away in the chaos, the Brotherhood’s arrival entirely unforeseen. Were they there for the Institute, or did Maxson learn of the synths in Bunker Hill? Either way, Brotherhood intelligence is more extensive than I originally thought. It was unwise of me to be so dismissive of the organization. They are haughty, but capable.

I did not expect to see the Director standing on the roof, looking out over the Commonwealth. I slowly made my way up to him. It was the first time he’d ever been above ground. The first time he ever looked at the place he despises so much with his own two eyes. Nothing I said could convince him that the first impression might be false, that there might be some good in the surface, that the life the people here live is still a life worth having.

( _clears throat_ ) He accepted my line about an ambush, though I don’t think he believed it. There is a meeting of the Institute’s directors he wants me to attend. I cannot fathom what he has in mind, what he hopes to achieve by inviting me.

 

**Entry 88**

.  
s̡͍̜͈̠̩̹̊̅̄̾̊̄z̵̨̡̧͙͉̟͕̜͇͑̿̐̒̋͢͠z̷̜̙̖̹̯̝̘̼̳͇̈́̽͆̎̽̐̓̂͝Z̭̺̳̰̳̭͇̻̺̺͋͆̓̇͘͝ị̴̧̨͇͈̮̣̳͆̽̅͘S͉͉̪̰̱͆̓̑̈̇̅͜͡s̨̢̼̹̲̳̻̓̄̽̉͂͐͛̓̈́͜ͅḩ̶͖̖̞͚͓͈̼̲͊̓͛̈́̒͗̾̃̄͢͝ẅ̬̣̣̖̈́̎͐̊͑͢ͅ

 

( _low, to himself_ ) “Ignore all the verbiage people throw at you and look at what they’re doing. What they’re asking you to do. What sort of world they’d have you build and how they’re going to pay for it.”

Advice from a liar is perhaps not the best taken, but I would trust Deacon with my life farther than anyone here.

I suspect there’s little chance of me forgetting any of this meeting.

 

**Entry 89**

.  
s̡͍̜͈̠̩̹̊̅̄̾̊̄z̵̨̡̧͙͉̟͕̜͇͑̿̐̒̋͢͠z̷̜̙̖̹̯̝̘̼̳͇̈́̽͆̎̽̐̓̂͝Z̭̺̳̰̳̭͇̻̺̺͋͆̓̇͘͝ị̴̧̨͇͈̮̣̳͆̽̅͘S͉͉̪̰̱͆̓̑̈̇̅͜͡s̨̢̼̹̲̳̻̓̄̽̉͂͐͛̓̈́͜ͅḩ̶͖̖̞͚͓͈̼̲͊̓͛̈́̒͗̾̃̄͢͝ẅ̬̣̣̖̈́̎͐̊͑͢ͅ  
.

( _thump; heavy breathing_ )

Holmes: … Valentine. ( _desperate_ ) **_Nick!_**

Valentine: ( _distant shout_ ) Codsworth, find Curie! Holmes! ( _running gets louder, suddenly stops_ ) You alright?

Holmes: No… Curie?

Valentine: Closest thing to a doctor Sanctuary has right now.

Holmes: I don’t need -

Valentine: Pardon my saying so, but you don’t look to be in any shape to say what you do and don’t need. Humor an old synth? Come on, let’s get you inside.

( _footsteps; creak of old wood_ )

( _silence_ )

Valentine: ( _gentle_ ) You don’t have to tell me anything, but if you want to talk, I’m listening.

Holmes: ( _deep, ragged breath_ ) I found him.

Valentine: Your son?

Holmes: ( _strained_ ) He’s the Director of the Institute.

Valentine: … he’s what?

Holmes: Sixty years. He was taken from me sixty years ago.

Valentine: Sixty… ( _heartbroken_ ) Oh, Holmes.

Holmes: He wanted to meet me. I would have remained frozen, a forgotten backup in case they needed untainted DNA, but he set me loose and just watched, just to see what would happen. If I would find him. ( _gritted teeth_ ) He let me wander this hell of a wasteland that he himself wouldn’t deign to set foot upon, and watched, out of curiosity. Then he had the damned presumption to appoint me to take his place when he dies… he’s dying. ( _faster_ ) I just found him and he’s dying and -

Valentine: Hey. Your world’s been thrown upside down, for a second time, but you’ll get through it, just like before. Where’s that objective detachment you’re so fond of, detective?

Holmes: It got me through the Institute, I learned as much as I could bear to, but now… ( _sigh; more like himself_ ) I thought I’d convinced myself my son was gone, that this man with his name held no emotional connection to me. How could he, someone I’ve never known? Apparently, I was wrong.

( _quiet knocking_ )

Valentine: You think you can talk to other people?

Holmes: Show her in. If you insist on having me examined.

Valentine: Sure do. ( _louder_ ) Come on in, Curie.

Curie: ( _cautiously happy_ ) Monsieur Holmes. I am glad to see you in one piece. Permit me to examine you? Then perhaps Monsieur Valentine can rest, hm?

Valentine: I don’t have to rest.

Curie: I did not mean physically. If Monsieur Holmes had not returned, your, how do you say, ‘gears and sprockets’ would grind down to nothing with all your worry.

Valentine: Hmph. I’d assumed this Institute excursion of yours was gonna be a one-way trip. ( _softer, pleased despite the news_ ) Sure proved me wrong.

Holmes: ( _sigh_ ) It’s not enough, Nick. The Minutemen aren’t enough. The technology the Institute has… they know everything about my involvement with the Railroad, about the Minutemen growing, and they are utterly unconcerned. Not even the Brotherhood would have a chance against them… but that might change.

Valentine: Don’t tell me you want to go to the Brotherhood for help?

Holmes: I don’t want their help, but I want to know what they have planned, if they have anything remotely advanced enough to have a prayer against the Institute. I know they’re building… something. I don’t know what it is.

Valentine: There are a whole bunch of reasons why you going back to the Brotherhood is a bad idea, chief among them is the fact that Elder Maxson is a madman. You think they’re just going to let you waltz back in?

Curie: Messieurs, this is not helpful. One moment, s’il vous plait, and then you can continue arguing about the best way to save the world. ( _silence_ ) Bon. Physically, you are fit as a fiddle. ( _shy_ ) Your friends want you to remain that way. Mentally, too, no?

Holmes: ( _appreciative_ ) Thank you, Curie.

Curie: You are welcome. I leave you two to argue - oh, I mean plan. I must tell Monsieur Codsworth you are well, or he will start over-watering the dead posies.

Holmes: How does one over-water - never mind.

( _door closes_ )

( _silence_ )

Valentine: So, you’re the new head of the Institute, huh?

Holmes: Don’t joke about that. I told him I wanted nothing to do with it, and he dismissed my protest, stating it would suit me, and there was work to be done.

Valentine: You know, you haven’t said his name once this whole time.

Holmes: I can’t.

Valentine: ( _sigh, match strikes_ ) You really think the Brotherhood is the way to go on this?

Holmes: I don’t want to have anything to do with them, but I have to know all the variables. The Brotherhood are far more aware of what’s going on in the Commonwealth than I gave them credit for. I have to know what they have planned. Maxson gave me a direct order to explore the Commonwealth, go about my business, and report any relevant findings concerning the Institute. What’s so strange about a Knight returning to make his report?


	20. Revolutions

**Entry 90**

Paladin Danse stood outside the Boston Airport, just beyond the Brotherhood barricade. He greeted me in typical fashion. “Good to see you, Knight. I heard you’ve been inside the Institute.” Apparently, even constructing the relay in as isolated a settlement as Sanctuary is not enough to maintain any semblance of secrecy.

I didn’t bother to deny it, but redirected his attention to the holotape of encrypted Institute data in my hand. Sturges had the foresight to make a copy of the tape. Danse’s response was not quite as enthusiastic as I had hoped. “Good, that should be enough to keep Maxson from throwing you overboard.” I believe there is a possibility the comment was intended as a joke.

Either way, Elder Maxson was indeed disappointed that I didn’t go to the Brotherhood with the plans for the teleporter rather than the Minutemen, but he was perfectly willing to forgive and forget provided I turn the holotape over to Proctor Ingram. He then ordered me to return to the Institute to recruit Dr. Madison Li to the Brotherhood cause.

I didn’t tell him I already knew who she was, but instead asked why he was so interested in her. Apparently, Dr. Li worked with the Brotherhood back in the Capital Wasteland and disappeared to seek out the Institute when the Brotherhood refused to simply leave after their conquest. Maxson now wants me to convince Dr. Li to continue her work where she left off, regarding some sort of powerful weapon. That’s all the information I have so far, but as this is exactly the sort of information I’ve been looking for, I agreed to return to the Institute and convince her to leave.

I’ve also decided to use the opportunity to make contact with the Railroad’s mysterious “Patriot.” If I’m careful, I should be able to aid both the Railroad and the Brotherhood in their efforts against the Institute.

 

**Entry 91**

.  
s̡͍̜͈̠̩̹̊̅̄̾̊̄z̵̨̡̧͙͉̟͕̜͇͑̿̐̒̋͢͠z̷̜̙̖̹̯̝̘̼̳͇̈́̽͆̎̽̐̓̂͝Z̭̺̳̰̳̭͇̻̺̺͋͆̓̇͘͝ị̴̧̨͇͈̮̣̳͆̽̅͘S͉͉̪̰̱͆̓̑̈̇̅͜͡s̨̢̼̹̲̳̻̓̄̽̉͂͐͛̓̈́͜ͅḩ̶͖̖̞͚͓͈̼̲͊̓͛̈́̒͗̾̃̄͢͝ẅ̬̣̣̖̈́̎͐̊͑͢ͅ

 

Male Voice: Sir! You must come to BioScience immediately!

Holmes: What’s happened?

Male Voice: Quickly, Dr. Loken and Dr. Higgs have locked themselves in and shut off the food supply.

Holmes: Shut off… what? Why on earth… oh. Oh, no, this isn’t because of the Director’s ridiculous notion to put me in charge, is it?

Male Voice: Um…

Holmes: Damn!

( _click_ )

 

**Entry 92**

.  
s̡͍̜͈̠̩̹̊̅̄̾̊̄z̵̨̡̧͙͉̟͕̜͇͑̿̐̒̋͢͠z̷̜̙̖̹̯̝̘̼̳͇̈́̽͆̎̽̐̓̂͝Z̭̺̳̰̳̭͇̻̺̺͋͆̓̇͘͝ị̴̧̨͇͈̮̣̳͆̽̅͘S͉͉̪̰̱͆̓̑̈̇̅͜͡s̨̢̼̹̲̳̻̓̄̽̉͂͐͛̓̈́͜ͅḩ̶͖̖̞͚͓͈̼̲͊̓͛̈́̒͗̾̃̄͢͝ẅ̬̣̣̖̈́̎͐̊͑͢ͅ

 

( _sigh_ ) Well. It’s been quite a day. ( _speaking while walking_ ) As tempting as it is to teleport directly to the church as before, I don’t know if the Institute have been logging my destinations, and I don’t want to risk repeated visits to draw attention. I plan on shooting every bird I see, on sight.

I returned to the Institute to find some scientists are as pleased with my appointment as successor as I am. I might have congratulated them on their attempt at rebellious behavior, had it not involved shutting down the Institute’s food supply. Ultimately, it was ridiculous. I’m certain the SRB would send in Coursers long before anyone was in danger of starving, but I did the responsible thing and talked the rogue scientists out of it. All it took was seeing their synth guards shot down with a vague hint of them becoming martyrs to the cause, and Dr. Loken decided to see reason. Higgs reluctantly went along with him. They even put themselves under house arrest. I could have put them on probation, but what would be the point, honestly?

Dr. Li was in her office… with the synth child. A physical duplicate of Shaun, ten years old. He unnerves me, and yet, I found myself talking to him. He wasn’t scared, but wanted to know if being made the new Director was scary or exciting. I asked him how he knew, he said he overheard Dr. Higgs saying I was unfit. He thought it was funny. In a way, I suppose it is.

My business with Dr. Li was simple enough. She ran to the Institute because she was convinced the Brotherhood would hunt her down. All she wanted was to do her research in peace. Yet, even in the Institute, working with brilliant minds and advanced technology, she wasn’t content. The lack of transparency bothered her, especially pertaining to an incident in the lab of her friend… Dr. Brian Virgil. I gave her the holotape I found in the FEV lab. The realization that the Institute lied to her was enough. She isn’t happy about returning to the Brotherhood, but she can’t stay in the Institute any longer either. I hope that this isn’t all a horrible mistake.

Now that my business for the Brotherhood of Steel was taken care of, it was time to turn my attention to my work for the Railroad. I found Patriot. I knew that whoever it was must be sympathetic toward synths. I had thought that the Institute scientist most sympathetic to the synths in this place was Alan Binet, head of the Robotics division. I was wrong, but only because I had yet to make the acquaintance of his son.

Liam Binet is an enterprising young man with a remarkable talent for hacking. What started as simple challenge, slipping synths out of the Institute without the SRB finding out, quickly became an ethical mission as he realized synths are “just like us, except without any freedom.” I suspect his father’s compassion and his ‘replacement’ mother had quite a bit to do with the development of his opinions. He was astonished to learn that the Railroad had not only decoded his encryption, but given him a codename. It seemed to galvanize him, and he immediately introduced me to the synth who has been assisting him, Z1-14.

Z1-14 was much warier of me than Liam was, but is willing to do anything to help “his people.” There are thirteen synths who want to escape. Thirteen people who are willing to risk their lives, lose everything they know, just to get away from the Institute. To be spoken to as a person, rather than a thing. Liam wants to get all thirteen free at once. The Synth Retention Bureau is becoming more alarmed. There may not be a chance for all thirteen, each singular escapee may be the last.

I told him I would help, of course. I can hardly abandon the boy to be caught by the SRB, and God forbid if the Brotherhood actually manages to invade the Institute, they certainly won’t give a damn about the synths. This has to be done quickly, before anything worse happens.

And so I’m on my way to church, to consult with a fount of obscure knowledge and probability calculations called Pam.

 

**Entry 93**

( _recording while walking_ )

I walked into the Railroad headquarters to find Desdemona holding a meeting. She was informing everyone that I had not only been inside the Institute, but that I was trying to make contact with Patriot. A project Tom has been working on was mentioned… but no details were forthcoming, only that it was related to the cause, and that the Railroad has a chance to free more synths than ever before.

I hadn’t even given her the news. What is she imagining I can accomplish?

When I did manage to speak with her, she was as close to thrilled as I’ve seen her. After consulting with Pam, there is one good possibility to find the password Liam needs - Dr. Wilfred Bergman, a scientist at Cambridge Polymer Labs. I’m to retrieve the password while Desdemona considers the details of Liam’s plan to free a baker’s dozen synths.

This is going to delay my return to the Brotherhood, but I have to help get those synths out before it’s too late. I’ll come up with some lie to tell Maxson. Hopefully he’ll be pleased enough with Dr. Li’s return that he won’t be too concerned with my continued absence. Get the synths out, find out the Brotherhood’s ultimate plan, and then… ( _sigh_ ) I don’t know.

I hate the idea of all that technology going to waste, the means of creating a whole new world right under our feet… but I can’t stand by and let the Institute continue mass producing slaves. Some scientists would support measures to start treating them as people, Liam’s father comes to mind, but it would be such a slow process. Up here on the surface, they could be typical humans and no one would ever know the difference. There’s no way to demonstrate that synths are people in an environment where they are made to believe they are mere things. 200 years of isolation has stagnated the Institute. They won’t change their culture until exposed to a different way of life, and there is no way for that to happen short of forcing them to leave, which they would never abide.

If I can’t change the Institute, I have to destroy it. All those people… the Minutemen can help the scientists who get out, there must be some sort of evacuation plan in place in case of an emergency. But that machine in Robotics… the Advanced Systems facility, the Coursers… those have to be destroyed and never rebuilt. But how?

I’ll finish my task, focus on getting those synths out, and perhaps, if I’m lucky, Desdemona might deign to enlighten me as to her schemes. Then I’ll return to the Prydwen to see what Maxson has planned for Dr. Li.


	21. Plans

**Entry 94**

The scientists at Cambridge Polymer Labs were working on a project for the military when the bombs fell two hundred years ago. A deranged Miss Nanny model robot called Molly greeted me, asking if I was here for a job. I decided to humor her. Once I was “hired,” she locked me in the lab as part of mandatory overtime, until the project was completed. What is it in a robot’s programming that causes it to lose all touch with reality?

Hm. No, the robot’s programming is the problem. Being unable to adjust and improvise is what causes the logical loops that force them to do things that seem insane. The fact that the lab’s director had long ago become a feral ghoul had no bearing on the fact that he was still in residence, and his last order had been to keep all employees in the lab until the project was completed. Even Codsworth, though in possession of a much more advanced personality matrix, maintained his primary function as caretaker, futile though it was, for two hundred years.

I digress. Rather than inform his team what was happening outside, the lab’s director decided to force them all to finish the project so that they would be deemed a valuable asset and secure a military escort out of the city after the bomb fell. Needless to say, his strategy didn’t work.

I managed to complete the project and get out, password in hand, along with a piece of power armor that may prove useful. I reported to Desdemona before returning to the Institute, and a good thing. She isn’t content with thirteen. Correctly recognizing that thirteen would send the Institute into high alert, possibly eliminating any possibility if Liam releasing more, she wants to get _all_ of the synths out at once. She wants me to coordinate an uprising with Z1-14… and leave “Patriot” out of it. She doesn’t know how he will respond to the idea of violence, and so she’d rather cut him loose as soon as he does his part of the plan.

It is ambitious, risky, and relies entirely on a very large number of synths being willing to fight, and die, for their freedom. I’ll soon find out just how possible, or impossible, this uprising will be.

 

**Entry 95**

I provided Liam with the password he needs and suggested that we might be able to get more than the original thirteen out. He was adamant - the thirteen are the only ones he can trust. More than that, and there is too great a risk of someone reporting to the SRB. Z1-14, on the other hand, is confident there are many more than thirteen who have been waiting their whole lives for this opportunity. He also talked about how a synth is expected to wear a docile mask or else they’re taken away by the SRB, memories wiped. ( _bitter_ ) A sort of factory reset, I suppose. Some synths have worn that mask so long there’s no longer anything more underneath. How could the Institute be so blind? Pride with no compassion, no sense that the things they create might be far cleverer than they ever imagined.

Z1 and I are using Liam’s hacking skills and keeping him from knowing the full plan. I would be infinitely more comfortable with transparency, but I fear that, while Liam’s heart is in the right place, when faced with the violent reality of a revolution, he may try to stop it.

Z1 needs twenty-four hours to gather his people and plan. Rather than spend a day in the Institute, I believe I’ll check on Dr. Li.

 

**Entry 96**

.  
s̡͍̜͈̠̩̹̊̅̄̾̊̄z̵̨̡̧͙͉̟͕̜͇͑̿̐̒̋͢͠z̷̜̙̖̹̯̝̘̼̳͇̈́̽͆̎̽̐̓̂͝Z̭̺̳̰̳̭͇̻̺̺͋͆̓̇͘͝ị̴̧̨͇͈̮̣̳͆̽̅͘S͉͉̪̰̱͆̓̑̈̇̅͜͡s̨̢̼̹̲̳̻̓̄̽̉͂͐͛̓̈́͜ͅḩ̶͖̖̞͚͓͈̼̲͊̓͛̈́̒͗̾̃̄͢͝ẅ̬̣̣̖̈́̎͐̊͑͢ͅ

 

Danse: I hope you realize how unnerving that is, Knight.

Holmes: Materializing out of thin air?

Danse: I might describe it as witnessing someone step out of a bolt of lightning.

Holmes: It feels a bit like that as well. If there were quite literally any alternative method of travelling to and from the Institute, I would take it. How is Dr. Li?

Danse: I haven’t spoken to her myself, but Proctor Ingram tells me she is… reluctant.

Holmes: ‘Reluctant’ being the polite choice of word?

Danse: Affirmative. Ingram will no doubt give you all the details after you report in to Elder Maxson.

( _click_ )

 

**Entry 97**

The Brotherhood of Steel is rebuilding a giant robot that helped them in the Capital Wasteland. It’s not exactly what I was expecting their ultimate plan to be, but they are confident. Dr. Li was one of the original designers, hence their desire for her cooperation. She doesn’t want to see her work turned into a weapon of war - again - and she doesn’t much care for how the Brotherhood tramples over everyone, how they always have to be in control. These are fair points. However, if it means ensuring the destruction of the Institute, we might have to let the Brotherhood have their giant robot. I just had to convince Dr. Li of that… and so I asked her to think of Dr. Virgil. It was an underhanded move, I admit it, but it worked. 

Proctor Ingram is overseeing construction of the robot, “Liberty Prime.” I suppose they had to name it something, but liberty for whom, I wonder? Ingram is determined, and fortunately willing to butt heads with Dr. Li over some of the finer points of teamwork if it means seeing this project succeed. She sent me to find a high-powered magnet to be used to make electromagnetic actuators. Danse came with me, eager to get out of that airport, to have his “boots on the ground” as he put it. Three parties of super mutants and half a dozen radscorpions later, I was glad to have his company. 

He’s securing the perimeter as I record this. The magnet we were sent for is safe in our possession. We’ll head back to the airport at dawn. 

( _softly_ ) Sometime after the third party of super mutants, Danse suddenly asked to speak ‘off the record.’ It was hard for him; I suspect I’m the first person he’s opened up to in years. He told me he grew up alone in the Capital Wasteland, and after a childhood of picking through ruins and selling scrap, he became a junk vendor in a place called Rivet City. I can’t imagine him as anything other than a soldier, but there it is. When the Brotherhood came to town, he and a good friend of his named Cutler signed up. The Brotherhood made him what he is today. He rose through the ranks, they were posted to the Prydwen together… then Cutler disappeared on a scouting mission. 

Danse found his friend in the midst of a super mutant hive, the only member of his team who survived… in a sense. He’d been exposed to the Forced Evolutionary Virus and become a super mutant. Danse did what he had been taught and killed him. No wonder that he hates mutants so much. 

There’s no way to reverse the effect of the FEV, of course… or, there wasn’t, until Virgil decided to try. I should see if he succeeded, if the person in that cave is human now. His serum was specifically formulated for the particular strand he infected himself with, it likely wouldn’t work on anyone else, but that sort of scientific work is exactly the sort of thing the Institute _should_ be working on, instead of their perfection of a slave race. They put super mutants in the Commonwealth, the least they could do is clean up their mess. 

Well. The reason Danse told me all of this is that he considers me a friend, the first good friend he’s had since Cutler died, and frankly it frightens him to have that sort of bond with another person again. To say I was surprised is a vast understatement. I managed to lighten the moment, giving Danse an excuse to laugh - the man actually laughed, I was astonished - and he thanked me for listening. He thought I deserved to know. 

I have never felt like such a fraud. 

Why are so many of the people I encounter inexplicably drawn to me? I don’t hold their ideals as closely as they do. They hardly know me at all, with the exception of Valentine, perhaps. And yet, they are willing to follow me to the ends of the earth. All I do is try to be good, to do what is right, what is just. To help when I can. This apparently makes me a saint. 

If one ignores the Brotherhood idolatry, Danse is a decisive, capable soldier with a strong moral compass, who truly wants to do what he can to save not just humanity, but individual people as well. He’s infuriating, but I would trust him to put his life on the line for me, and anyone else put under his protection. I suppose that’s as fine a basis for friendship as any, especially in this world. 

Danse and I have never actually discussed the Brotherhood’s morals. His opinion is based solely on his observations of my actions, my casual interactions with him. I’m not his friend because I’m a model soldier… I’m his friend, because I treat him as such - he’s coming back. 

  


**Entry 98**

Ingram was thrilled with our return. I spent a portion of the day helping to build the actuators she needed, and then she told me she needed nukes. Apparently, the giant robot’s primary weapons are a laser it shoots from its eyes, and the ability to fire nuclear missiles of the sort planes used to drop two hundred years ago. ( _sarcastic_ ) This sounds like a spectacular plan. 

Dr. Li seemed almost smug as she stood there, informing me of how without these nukes, Liberty Prime would not function at full capacity, and wouldn’t have a chance against the Institute. And so, with great trepidation on my part, Danse and I are going to find some nuclear missiles, cached away in a facility that now resides in the Glowing Sea. 

We’re to meet with Scribe Haylen, who has established an outpost on the edge of the Sea. First I’m going to take a moment to rest… and check the progress of a synth resistance. 

  


**Entry 99**

  


s̡͍̜͈̠̩̹̊̅̄̾̊̄z̵̨̡̧͙͉̟͕̜͇͑̿̐̒̋͢͠z̷̜̙̖̹̯̝̘̼̳͇̈́̽͆̎̽̐̓̂͝Z̭̺̳̰̳̭͇̻̺̺͋͆̓̇͘͝ị̴̧̨͇͈̮̣̳͆̽̅͘S͉͉̪̰̱͆̓̑̈̇̅͜͡s̨̢̼̹̲̳̻̓̄̽̉͂͐͛̓̈́͜ͅḩ̶͖̖̞͚͓͈̼̲͊̓͛̈́̒͗̾̃̄͢͝ẅ̬̣̣̖̈́̎͐̊͑͢ͅ 

  


( _soft, hurried steps_ ) 

Holmes: Z1-14. 

Z1: Hello. ( _pause, then hushed_ ) You took longer than I thought. I was worried something had happened. 

Holmes: I had to take care of matters on the surface. You were able to talk to the others? 

Z1: Yes. I asked my friends if they’d take up arms for their freedom. I was surprised at the number of volunteers - 

( _click_ ) 


	22. Chapter 22

**Entry 100**

.  
s̡͍̜͈̠̩̹̊̅̄̾̊̄z̵̨̡̧͙͉̟͕̜͇͑̿̐̒̋͢͠z̷̜̙̖̹̯̝̘̼̳͇̈́̽͆̎̽̐̓̂͝Z̭̺̳̰̳̭͇̻̺̺͋͆̓̇͘͝ị̴̧̨͇͈̮̣̳͆̽̅͘S͉͉̪̰̱͆̓̑̈̇̅͜͡s̨̢̼̹̲̳̻̓̄̽̉͂͐͛̓̈́͜ͅḩ̶͖̖̞͚͓͈̼̲͊̓͛̈́̒͗̾̃̄͢͝ẅ̬̣̣̖̈́̎͐̊͑͢ͅ

 

( _muffled rustling; indistinct speaking in the distance_ )

( _someone in power armor walks by_ )

( _door closes_ )

( _deep breath_ ) The synth revolution progresses well. I staged a construction accident, enabling the ‘dead synths’ loyal to the cause to hide away and build weapons for the rebels. It will take time, more so for the great care they must take not to be discovered. Suspicion from Liam, or the SRB, or the Director, must not be aroused.

I overheard a conversation - the fact that some people simply leave their doors wide open baffles me, even if the Institute is perfectly secure - but it strengthened my resolve to see that place destroyed. It was one of the scientists from Advanced Systems, talking with her husband. She was talking about the synth Shaun. The exact replica of a child. He makes her sad. It feels wrong.

Her husband didn’t understand, and to be honest I didn’t comprehend the gravity of her statement at first, either. They gave him every capability of a real child, except a future. He’ll never age. He’ll never be allowed to grow up and have a family of his own. This was a disturbing revelation in itself. What precisely does she mean by “be allowed” to grow up? Do synths age or do they not? Is it an optional feature, as it were? Was it merely a turn of phrase? But then… then she said, “Sometimes I feel we have no right to do the things we do. Just because we can is not a reason. I think we made a mistake.”

Her husband’s response was not encouraging. “Someone might not understand, and take it the wrong way.”

The wrong way. What other way is there? Criticism of a lack of ethical codes is deemed revolutionary? At least some scientists aren’t as content as they appear.  
Danse and I are supposed to be leaving soon to meet Scribe Haylen. I should prepare…

…

What’s going to happen to that boy?

 

**Entry 101**

( _Recording starts suddenly, a hiss of air and scratch of gears_ )

Holmes: - never understood how you sleep in one of these things.

Danse: ( _distant_ ) I don’t always, but it has been a necessity on enough missions that I’m used to it. Your eagerness to get out of power armor at every opportunity is as confusing to me as my preference to stay in it is to you.

Holmes: Ha. A fair point.

( _mechanical footsteps become louder_ )

Danse: ( _closer_ ) There’s something I’ve wanted to ask, but… well. When you joined, you said you had been cryogenically frozen in Vault 111. You let slip a single mention of a family, and never talked about them again. Then you vanished. When you returned with a synth in a trench coat, there were a great many things I wanted to ask. However, there also wasn’t time, and though I didn’t know you well, I was certain you would resent being ordered to explain yourself. The last thing I wanted was to alienate a promising new recruit.

Holmes: Actually, I was surprised you didn’t say anything. And now you want an explanation for my disappearance? It’s a reasonable request from a commanding officer.

Danse: Not exactly. Our intelligence found some disturbing rumors of a synth inside Diamond City, functioning as a detective. Given that this ‘Nick Valentine’ was with you, I assume you were seeking its… services, when you left Cambridge. If you’re willing to tell me, I’d like to know what could make you so desperate.

Holmes: … ( _sigh_ ) While we were frozen, my wife was murdered and our infant son taken from her dead arms. After being certain I would never learn what happened to him, who her murderer was, I finally decided to start actually looking. Valentine was supposedly ‘the best’ when it comes to finding people. He lived up to his reputation. We had just confronted my wife’s murderer when the Prydwen made its impressive arrival. Before he attacked us, and we subsequently killed him, he told me my son was alive… within the Institute.

Danse: What?! What the hell would those bastards want with an infant?

Holmes: The Institute wanted the perfect machine, and so they based their designs on man. Synths were the result. It wasn’t enough, the quest for perfection led toward what would become the latest generation, but to accomplish that, they needed a sample of human DNA untainted by radiation. They found Vault-Tec’s records, and in them, they found an infant, frozen in time.

Danse: Well, this explains your extended absences. Do you have a plan for getting him out?

Holmes: ( _scoff, bitter_ ) No. No, Paladin, I do not.

Danse: You haven’t located him yet?

Holmes: ( _frustrated sigh_ ) Oh, why not. You’ve been more than forthright with me. I think you’ll listen to the end, and not throw me in the brig.

Danse: That’s a disturbing statement, Knight, but it’s true that I’ll listen. ( _pause_ ) Consider this revenge for all the long stories I’ve inflicted on you.

Holmes: ( _humored sound_ ) Well. When I finally got inside the Institute, I found a cell with a ten-year-old boy inside. I knew he was my son. He was frightened of me. His reaction only escalated no matter how I tried to calm him down, shouting for his ‘father.’ I knew of course he couldn’t have any idea who I was, but then… then he came in. An older man, sixty years of age. He recited a series of numbers and letters, a command, and the child went limp, unconscious. The boy was a synth. The man who shut him down introduced himself as the Director of the Institute. His unofficial title is “Father,” because he is the ‘father’ of all synths. My son.

The Institute raised him. He never questioned who his real parents were until he was older, and by then he was a committed member of the organization, dedicating his life to the scientific work they did… “improving” humanity. I’ve tried to reason with him. He’d never even set foot on the surface until recently. I can’t make him believe life up here is still a life worth living, that the Institute’s vast resources could have helped so many… he’s an old man, set in his ways, and certain that his vision for the future of mankind is the best.

I know full well any chance I had at recovering my son is gone. This man with his name…

( _silence_ )

Danse: ( _quiet_ ) I’m sorry for your loss.

Holmes: ( _surprised huff, then sincere_ ) Thank you. I hadn’t thought of it that way before, but… it’s accurate.

( _silence_ )

Danse: Did you really think there was a chance I’d report you for consorting with the enemy?

Holmes: ( _soft laugh_ ) A week ago, certainly. An unorthodox soldier with direct access to the Institute reveals his son is the man in charge?

Danse: ( _amused_ ) I see what you mean. I appreciate you telling me… damn. I suggest you get that armor back on, Knight, unless you want to fight a deathclaw without it.

( _a rush of movement, a hiss of air and scratch of gears_ )

Danse: Hasn’t spotted us yet, but -

( _click_ )

 

**Entry 102**

( _muffled; recording within power armor_ )

We made it to Waypoint Echo, the outpost on the edge of the Glowing Sea where Scribe Haylen awaited our arrival. She was glad to see us, and seems revitalized compared to how I left her in Cambridge. The police station has apparently become a sort of headquarters for ground operations, heavily fortified. No more fear of ferals there, at least.

She handed us a distress beacon to signal where the bombs are, when we find them. I sincerely hope the records are right, and that this isn’t some wild goose chase. Every time I walk through the Glowing Sea, there are at least three occasions where I’m certain I’m not going to make it to the other side. At least I have a trained soldier with me this time.

Danse: ( _distant_ ) Radscorpion on your six!

( _laser weapon fire_ )

( _rock breaking_ )

Holmes: Three more!

( _gunfire mixed with laser weapon fire over the sound of clacking_ )

Danse: ( _distant_ ) Damn it! Die, you repulsive beast!

( _whoosh of flame_ )

( _heavy running - strikes something hard_ )

( _screeching hiss_ )

( _heavy thwack_ )

( _breathing_ )

( _flame off_ )

Danse: What the hell?

Holmes: You looked like you needed assistance.

Danse: You charged a radscorpion with a sword. On fire.

Holmes: It was a gift for rescuing a farmer’s son.

Danse: A farmer.

Holmes: Family heirloom, apparently.

Danse: … That was either one of the most impressive things I’ve ever seen, or one of the stupidest.

Holmes: ( _chuckle_ ) Let me know when you decide.

 

**Entry 103**

( _muffled, recorded in power armor; heavy footsteps in the background_ )

The nuclear bombs were in an underground military installation populated with ferals. They were guarded by a member of the Children of Atom and his assaultron. As much as Danse would have welcomed the challenge, I did not want to have to fight an assaultron on top of everything else today. Fortunately, I managed to convince the monk that letting us use the bombs was in keeping with his order’s teachings, and he gave us full access. Danse ordered me to report back to Proctor Ingram, while he stayed behind and kept watch over the bombs. He’d been given a direct order from Maxson to make certain nothing happened until the Brotherhood arrived. I couldn’t argue.

I took the opportunity to visit Virgil before leaving the Glowing Sea. I was pleasantly surprised to find a human man working in the laboratory. His serum was a success. It’s incredible. Of course, he’s stuck in that cave, now. There’s no way for him to leave, and no place for him to go. This didn’t seem to bother him, he spoke only of his work. He’s going to continue to search for a universal serum, rather than one for just that particular strand of the virus.

I let Haylen know Danse was babysitting the bombs, and now I’m on my way back to Boston Airport.

Hm. While we were making our way through the facility, Danse asked for my opinion of Haylen. He said he was worried about her, that he had pushed her too hard while his team was falling apart in Cambridge. I could tell it wasn’t truly Haylen he was worried about. Four soldiers died under his command, over half his team. Doubts concerning his ability to lead had been weighing on him for some time. I pointed out that all we can do is our best and live with the consequences, and, more importantly, the simple fact that he clearly cares for the people under his command should not be discounted. He seemed comforted by that, thanked me once again for being willing to listen, and told me he was “sorry you had to see me at my worst, instead of at my best.”

( _sigh_ ) Doubt is not something to apologize for. Neither is kindness. A significant lack of such is what put humanity here in the first place.


	23. Betrayals

**Entry 104**

( _muffled, in power armor_ )

I’ve made a terrible mistake. In my eagerness to see the Brotherhood’s plans, to guarantee a fight against the Institute, I failed to consider the complete implications of my actions. I had no sense of scale for Liberty Prime while it was a series of parts. Now that it is constructed, it’s taller than the storage building that once stored it! Ingram and Li activated it, had it run a series of diagnostics… it still thinks it’s defending Anchorage from the Chinese army. Not only is it massive and deadly, it’s delusional. At least it is secured to one place; the power core that would enable it to travel independently hasn’t been completed yet.

Ha. How strange that I should refer to the robot as an ‘it’ while Ingram called it a ‘him.’ Yet to the Brotherhood, all synths are ‘it.’ Why not a towering weapon? Because they built it, they can control it?

Philosophizing will have to wait. Maxson wants to see me. What could he possibly want me to do now?

 

**Entry 105**

( _recording starts suddenly; a hiss of air and scratch of gears_ )

( _elevator hum_ )

Danse?

( _clanking - mechanical monotone_ ) **Intruder detected.**

( _laser fire, something hard hits_ )

Oof! Protectrons?! ( _gunfire, laser fire_ ) ( _muttering_ ) Should have stayed in the damn armor… ( _explosion_ ) more trouble than they’re worth.

…

Is that…? ( _worry_ ) He’s not in his armor.

… 

( _cautious_ ) Danse?

Danse: I’m not surprised Maxson sent you. He never liked to do the dirty work himself.

Holmes: An odd trait for a leader. ( _treading carefully_ ) Danse, there was no way you could have known.

Danse: You aren’t going to demand an explanation?

Holmes: I’ve spent enough time with you to know duplicity and subterfuge are not your strong points. Why would you join the Brotherhood if you knew what you were?

Danse: ( _eerily calm_ ) At least you and Haylen believe me. Until Quinlan got that list decoded, I thought synths were the enemy. I never expected to hear that I was one of them. It just feels like a cruel joke. I remember being a child, I remember growing up in the ruins… everything. I… suppose they programmed that all into my head. I mean, I feel like I’ve been in control of my entire life, making my own decisions and determining my own fate. Even though the proof states I’m a synth, I don’t feel any different than I did before. I still feel like a human. ( _confused_ ) Why does any of this even matter to you? You’re obviously here to carry out Maxson’s orders. Does he even want me alive?

Holmes: No. I’m going to get you out of here without him knowing.

Danse: Don’t be ridiculous. I wish Maxson had sent someone else, but that doesn’t change a thing. I’m a synth, which means I need to be destroyed. Synths can’t be trusted. Machines were never meant to make their own decisions, they need to be controlled. Technology that’s run amok is what brought the entire world to its knees and humanity to the brink of extinction. I need to be the example, not the exception.

Holmes: ( _skeptical_ ) If you honestly feel that way, why did you run in the first place?

Danse: The moment I learned the truth, I knew my life was in danger. I’m a soldier, so self-preservation kicked in. I needed to regroup and assess the situation. Once I got here, and I had some time to think… I realized I’d just made everything worse. I’m ready to accept the consequences of my true identity. Maxson’s obviously testing you, and I refuse to be the one who causes you to fail.

Holmes: ( _dry_ ) Your willingness to fall on your blade for your principles is admirable, but I’m not going to let it happen.

Danse: If Maxson learns that you’ve disobeyed a direct order to save the life of a synth, he’ll have you executed. Why would you risk that for me?

Holmes: Because Maxson is wrong. No justice, no greater good, would be served with your death.

Danse: This isn’t up for debate -

Holmes: ( _sudden anger_ ) Like hell it’s not! ( _intense reason_ ) Listen to yourself, Danse. You aren’t a piece of technology run amok, you’re a soldier, and a damn good one. Everything you have done has come from a desire to help people, to save humanity! ( _sigh, quieter_ ) I will not kill you, and I will not let you kill yourself. I do not choose my friends lightly. I will not let them die so easily. You need to face this, Danse.

Danse: ( _sigh_ ) I know. I can’t run away from what I am. I’m not a threat to mankind, but I’m not what I thought I was, either. I need to face the fact that I’m my own worst enemy and live with the consequences.

Holmes: ( _relieved_ ) I’m glad to hear it.

Danse: The only clear choice is for me to leave the Commonwealth. The sooner I make for the border, the sooner I put this behind me. Take my holotags. ( _clink_ ) Use them to prove that your mission was a success or Maxson will just send someone else to hunt me down. Now, come on. Let’s get the hell out of here.

Holmes: Gladly.

( _elevator hum_ )

Danse: You left your power armor outside? Why bring it if you weren’t going to use it?

Holmes: I was in it when I was ordered to find you, and there wasn’t time for me to store it somewhere. I didn’t know what to expect, either. I got out of it because I thought you might react poorly to a faceless suit of armor charging through the door. Then the Protectrons started shooting at me and I immediately regretted the decision … … ( _offended_ ) How the devil did he track me in a vertibird?

Elder Maxson: ( _distant shout, furious_ ) How dare you betray the Brotherhood!

( _click_ )

 

**Entry 106**

While decoding the data I stole from the Institute, Proctor Quinlan discovered a list of missing or escaped synths. One of them, designated M7-97, looked like Danse. When a DNA comparison was done, they were revealed to be one and the same. Danse had no idea he was a synth. When he heard, he ran and hid in an abandoned military listening post. I was ordered to find him, and execute him. I disobeyed, naturally. Unfortunately, Maxson suspected I would, and followed me. ( _irritated_ ) It still chafes at my pride that he was able to do so.

The confrontation was fraught with emotional tension, with Maxson ranting about synths being a corruption of human life with manufactured approximations of souls. Danse made an attempt to defend himself, but he was too shaken by the truth of his nature and Maxson too vehement in his righteous anger. 

The proud soldier surrendered. I can’t describe what it felt like to see him perfectly prepared to accept death, without any regret… … It’s fortunate there wasn’t a chill wind’s chance in the ninth circle of Hell that I was going to let Maxson murder him.

It was one of the tenser deductive revelations of my life, most of my analysis relying on a shaky foundation of inferences rather than strictly objective data, but it worked. I asked Maxson how much of his vehemence came from dedication to his dogma, and how much from personal feelings of being betrayed by a mentor. I suspect the only reason he didn’t shoot me on the spot was he was too shocked to think of it.

The facts are simply that Danse has been a Paladin for a decade, and given the age difference between him and Maxson, he likely would have been in the Capital Wasteland as a Knight when Maxson was a Squire. Danse was among the first to be posted to the Prydwen, Maxson made me a Knight based on nothing but Danse’s recommendation, and, most telling, Danse is the only member of the Brotherhood I’ve ever heard refer to Maxson as ‘Arthur.’

However, while this added dramatic color to the matter at hand, it was not essential. The essential points were these; Maxson appeared to be functioning under the assumption that Danse had acted solely based on programming, that he was always intended to mimic a Brotherhood soldier. This could not be further from the truth. M7-97 is listed as escaped or missing. He’s not an agent planted within the Brotherhood; he’s a runaway. Danse, with no knowledge of his true nature, chose to join the Brotherhood of his own free will, that free will Maxson despises so much. Since then, Danse has dedicated his existence to the cause with nothing but sincere devotion. Whether human or not, he has saved the lives of countless Brotherhood soldiers. It was time for Maxson to save his.

No one said anything for a long time. When at last Maxson spoke, it was stern, just as angry but relatively calm. As far as he is concerned, Danse is dead, his body vaporized. He is forbidden from ever setting foot on the Prydwen, or even approaching anyone in the Brotherhood of Steel. If he disobeys, he will be fired upon. Danse agreed. Maxson reiterated that his mercy was not acceptance. The only reason Danse is alive, is because of me.

Maxson returned to the Prydwen, ordering me to report to him immediately after saying goodbye. Danse is inside, making the bunker more livable, or attempting to. He’s going to stay, apparently content to spend the rest of his life hidden underground. There’s nowhere else for him to go.

That isn’t true, but I’ll give the former Paladin some time alone. I don’t think he’ll change his mind about living. All the same, I’ll return to check on him, as soon as I take care of other pressing business. The synth resistance has to be warned that the Brotherhood of Steel are making fast progress, and they won’t care who they shoot down if they manage to breach the Institute.

  


**Entry 107**

.  
s̡͍̜͈̠̩̹̊̅̄̾̊̄z̵̨̡̧͙͉̟͕̜͇͑̿̐̒̋͢͠z̷̜̙̖̹̯̝̘̼̳͇̈́̽͆̎̽̐̓̂͝Z̭̺̳̰̳̭͇̻̺̺͋͆̓̇͘͝ị̴̧̨͇͈̮̣̳͆̽̅͘S͉͉̪̰̱͆̓̑̈̇̅͜͡s̨̢̼̹̲̳̻̓̄̽̉͂͐͛̓̈́͜ͅḩ̶͖̖̞͚͓͈̼̲͊̓͛̈́̒͗̾̃̄͢͝ẅ̬̣̣̖̈́̎͐̊͑͢ͅ  
.

Holmes: ( _hushed_ ) Z1-14.

Z1: Sir?

Holmes: You’re running out of time. The Brotherhood have constructed a massive weapon, and when they decide it’s ready, nothing will stop them. Your people must be prepared for anything, I may not be able to -

Woman’s Voice: There you are!

Holmes: Ah. Dr. Fillmore.

Fillmore: I’m sure you’ve been busy, but you’re about to get busier. You’re going to the Mass Fusion building to acquire a beryllium agitator for us.

Holmes: Am I?

Fillmore: Recent events have upset our timetable; getting the reactor online has become our number one priority. It needs to be running… well, yesterday. The agitator will allow us to boost the reactor power and get it running sooner than planned. You just keep me safe. I’ll worry about the agitator.

Holmes: You’re to come with me?

Fillmore: I’m not fond of going up top, but I promise to stay out of your way. This device we’re after is very sensitive equipment, and pretty damn old. It’s not that I don’t trust you, I just trust myself more.

Holmes: I see.

Filmore: Not to put more pressure on you, but we have to move quickly on this. Word is that the Brotherhood is nosing around the area. We don’t want them getting the agitator before we do. Head on up to the Relay, and I’ll meet you there.

Holmes: I’ll be along shortly.

…

Z1: The Brotherhood are the ones you were warning me about?

Holmes: Yes.

Z1: Then you will secure the agitator for Dr. Fillmore?

Holmes: No.

Z1: But if you do not go with her, Father will know of your betrayal.

Holmes: If I do go with her, then what? I can’t let the Institute have an unlimited source of power. If they activate the reactor before your people are ready, what then? If we fail, what recourse would there be? If the Institute is anxious for the Brotherhood not to have this device, then that’s exactly what must happen. The Brotherhood are the lesser evil.

Z1: But still evil.

Holmes: ( _sigh_ ) I’m afraid humans exist in shades of grey.

Z1: Perhaps that is why your scientists are so obsessed with perfection.

Holmes: The Institute and I have very different ideas of perfection. I swear to you, Z1-14, I am not abandoning your people. Be prepared. The time will come, but it will be more sudden, and I’m afraid more bloody, than originally planned.


	24. Complications

**Entry 108**

.  
s̡͍̜͈̠̩̹̊̅̄̾̊̄z̵̨̡̧͙͉̟͕̜͇͑̿̐̒̋͢͠z̷̜̙̖̹̯̝̘̼̳͇̈́̽͆̎̽̐̓̂͝Z̭̺̳̰̳̭͇̻̺̺͋͆̓̇͘͝ị̴̧̨͇͈̮̣̳͆̽̅͘S͉͉̪̰̱͆̓̑̈̇̅͜͡s̨̢̼̹̲̳̻̓̄̽̉͂͐͛̓̈́͜ͅḩ̶͖̖̞͚͓͈̼̲͊̓͛̈́̒͗̾̃̄͢͝ẅ̬̣̣̖̈́̎͐̊͑͢ͅ  
.

Holmes: Excuse me, Scribe, have you seen Proctor Ingram?

Scribe: She’s just gone up to the Prydwen, Knight.

Holmes: ( _sigh_ ) Of course she has.

( _click_ )

 

**Entry 109**

I am an idiot. This is the result of decisions being made without being in possession of all the essential data! How many times have I said I cannot make bricks without clay, and yet here I am with every plan I hoped to put in place crumbling to pieces around me.

When I heard that the Institute was accelerating their plan to activate their reactor, my first thought was that they should be stopped. Any decision made to stop the Institute from becoming stronger was a good decision. And so, I informed the people best equipped to stop the Institute from completing their plans; Proctor Ingram was excited and grateful that not only could the Brotherhood fight the Institute, but the Institute’s efforts had solved the problem of powering the bloody robot!

The Brotherhood was successful, and the Institute is certainly aware of my involvement, which destroys any chance at my returning to aid the synths. Maxson would not be denied his debriefing concerning Danse, but stated only that this would be the last time we ever spoke of him, and that his death left a gap in the chain of command. It is a gap he decided to fill with me, the most unwilling Paladin in Brotherhood history.

I managed to keep calm and take advantage of the situation. Danse’s quarters are now mine, which is where I stand to record this. I feel like a fool. The Brotherhood have their giant weapon, and the Institute is on high alert, making it nigh impossible for any of those synths to escape. I don’t know what Desdemona’s plans were, but she was certain they could free them all. That is another part that rankles, simply not knowing what the grand plan was.

( _heavy sigh_ )

…

Danse’s quarters are what I might have expected - clean and ordered. An unopened bottle of Nuka-Cola on the desk along with a toolbox stocked for quick simple repairs, and an unopened carton of cigarettes. Given that it is unopened, it’s either a tool for bartering with fellow soldiers, or he once smoked and has since quit… no, bartering is more likely, I doubt he would have kept a whole carton if he wasn’t going to use them. Ammunition and weaponry in every duffle bag, locker and chest… hm. The two empty liquor bottles discreetly stored in a crate in the corner are a surprise. There isn’t anything that seems to have sentimental value in the room, but of course the man’s most valued possession is likely standing in the workshop. I think I’ll return it to him.

I cannot express how irritating it is to hear the soldiers refer to Danse as a traitor. As if he suddenly woke up one day and decided to be a synth. He deserves better than spending the rest of his life alone in an underground bunker, dismissed by those who once admired him.

If I do nothing else right, at least I can make sure my friends are taken care of.

 

**Entry 110**

( _hiss of air, scratch of gears_ )

Danse: - never thought I’d see that suit again.

Holmes: ( _amused_ ) I intended to bring it back as a surprise, but I see it was unnecessary. Tell me, did you scavenge together the power armor first, or the bed?

Danse: I found the pieces at the National Guard training yard south of here. First I’ve had to fight ferals and wildlife without armor in a long time. I don’t understand why you do it.

Holmes: You didn’t answer my question.

Danse: Ha. The bed. Well, the mattress. The bed frame came after the armor.

Holmes: ( _light laugh_ ) Naturally.

Danse: I think you should keep it. Even if I know you won’t be wearing it often, I can’t think of anyone else I’d rather see make use of it. Did you steal it, or were you promoted?

Holmes: Do you think I could steal a suit of armor from the Prydwen?

Danse: With anyone else, the idea would be ludicrous. With you? It’s still unlikely, but much more possible.

Holmes: ( _amused_ ) I’m flattered, but no. As your “death” left an unsightly hole in the chain of command, Maxson used me to fill it.

Danse: It’s an important position. The Brotherhood taught me everything I know. It was my home. I don’t expect you to understand, but -

Holmes: I won’t do anything to intentionally cause mass chaos within the Brotherhood. However, I also don’t plan on ever going back to that airship.

Danse: That would be a waste of a valuable resource, losing access to Proctor Teagan’s munitions, Scribe Neriah’s X-111 supply, as well as cutting yourself off from inside knowledge of the Brotherhood’s activities.

Holmes: ( _sigh_ ) I’ll make an appearance periodically. … Are you alright here, Danse?

Danse: I can’t say I’m fond of the isolation, but what else can I do?

Holmes: I know of a settlement where you would be welcome. It’s to the west, far enough from the Brotherhood’s current activities to make encountering them rare, and the settlers would appreciate additional protection from a soldier.

Danse: ( _bitter_ ) I doubt there’s any settlement that would provide sanctuary for a synth on the run from the Brotherhood.

Holmes: It’s funny you should use that word.

Danse: Which word?

Holmes: Sanctuary.

 

**Entry 111**

( _recording starts suddenly - hiss of air, scratch of gears_ )

Danse: - called you “General.”

Holmes: Yes.

Danse: I knew you were involved with the Minutemen, but General?

Holmes: Reluctantly, yes.

Danse: ( _awkwardly diplomatic_ ) And you continue to retain the… detective? For what purpose?

Holmes: What?

Valentine: ( _distant, approaching_ ) Well, if it isn’t my favorite former icicle.

Holmes: ( _pleased_ ) Valentine! It’s good to see you.

Valentine: Glad to hear it, though you’d think with access to a goddamned teleporter you might have let me know you were alive.

Holmes: Ah. ( _chastened_ ) You’re right, I should have checked in -

Valentine: Damn right you should have. Danse.

Danse: Valentine.

Valentine: … What’s he doing here? And why are you the one with a Brotherhood paint job, not him?

Holmes: ( _sigh_ ) A great deal has happened.

 

**Entry 112**

( _a solo violin plays over a nearby radio_ )

I told Valentine everything that had happened while Sturges gave Danse a welcome tour and found a place for him to stay. I underestimated just how upset Valentine would be at my prolonged absence, but as soon as I started telling him about recent events, he seemed to forgive me… almost. He obliquely chastised my involvement in Liberty Prime’s construction but was supportive of my decision to interfere with the Institute’s plans for its reactor, though neither of us like to think of the synths trapped inside that place, waiting for freedom.

Valentine was surprisingly sympathetic regarding Danse. Then again, perhaps it’s not so surprising. The old synth is remarkably willing to give everyone what he calls ‘a fair shake.’

Valentine: ( _distant_ ) Live as long as I have, and you learn everyone’s got their reasons for everything. Doesn’t make them right or good, but they’ve got reasons, and sometimes they can change their mind if given the chance.

Holmes: How long have you been standing there?

Valentine: Just now. ( _closer_ ) One thing bugs me about Danse’s… situation, I guess you’d call it. You said Danse escaped the Institute? Well, synths who escape still know what they are, and the Institute would never let a synth think it was human, which means -

Holmes: Someone gave him a new set of memories when he got out, yes.

Valentine: ( _match strike_ ) The Railroad usually includes a free face change with their memory wipe deal.

Holmes: Deacon mentioned being on op in the Capital Wasteland, so we know the Railroad has a presence there. Perhaps they didn’t have the time or resources to do both. Perhaps something interrupted them. There’s no way to know. Thank you. ( _clink of a lighter; exhale_ ) I haven’t mentioned any of this to Danse yet.

Valentine: I wouldn’t, either. Paladin Danse was a loyal soldier. Finding out he was a synth… that man must be going through hell right now. Last thing he needs is finding out that not only did the Institute make him, but a resistance group he’s not too fond of are the ones who gave him his memories.

Holmes: Regarding the Railroad, I need to see Desdemona and let her know my cover within the Institute has been ruined -

( _music suddenly stops_ )

Radio: This is Radio Freedom, the Voice of the Minutemen. This message is for the General. Hostile activity has been sighted around the Castle -

( _sudden rush of movement, radio off_ )

Holmes: Hurry, Valentine.

Valentine: Institute?

Holmes: Preston could handle raiders or mutants, and the Brotherhood have no reason to attack, so certainly the Institute.

Valentine: You sure you don’t want the soldier with you instead?

Holmes: I’d consider bringing him along with us, but Strong is there.

Valentine: Strong… oh. ( _joking_ ) You think the ex-Paladin might not play nice with the delusional Super Mutant?

Holmes: Valentine.

Valentine: It was your idea to put the ugly green giant in the Castle. Preston might have forgiven you by now. Maybe.

( _click_ )


	25. Preparation

**Entry 113**

Ronnie Shaw intercepted us when we arrived at the Castle and informed me she’d seen a great many crows around lately. An attack was imminent, and the Institute did not disappoint. Wave after wave of second generation synths commanded by Coursers swarmed the walls, some even teleporting directly into the courtyard. The fight was long, some Minutemen died, but we survived. A single Courser managed to escape, passing just outside our range of fire before disappearing. There is a certain satisfaction to be had in watching a Courser retreat.

Preston did, in fact, forgive me for sending a super mutant to his Castle, especially when said mutant proved a valuable asset in battle. Strong was only too eager to bash every ‘robot-man’ he saw - which is why Valentine kept his distance. Strong was also going stir crazy, so I’ve decided to send him to one of the western settlements that recently had to deal with both raiders and radscorpions.

After the battle, Valentine and I helped with repairs; replacing an artillery that was destroyed, replanting the garden, fixing Radio Freedom’s generators… and burying the dead. When the Castle was once again in order, Preston approached with surprising news.

He said he received word from Sturges that some old maps were on the holotape of stolen Institute data. Sturges thinks he’s found a way in. I hardly dare believe it. Could it be possible that the Institute left a back door open? A way in, old and unused and forgotten after all these years… It is a capital error to theorize before the facts. I have to know the details of what Sturges discovered.

Preston is coming with Valentine and I back to Sanctuary. Ms. Shaw is more than capable of directing the operations of the Castle in his absence, and I suspect I will need Preston to help me plan. We’ll stop by the Railroad’s headquarters on the way, so I can give Desdemona the bad news about her operative being discovered.

 

**Entry 114**

Desdemona was surprised to see me walk into her headquarters with a Minuteman in tow. She knew I had bad news before I said anything but took it gracefully. The operation inside the Institute had been a long shot from the start. It doesn’t make the failure sit any easier, but now the Railroad can be somewhat prepared for when the Minutemen -

Preston: ( _wandering in, reverently excited_ ) Hey, you ever hear of Paul Revere? One of the original Minutemen. “One if by land, two if by sea.” Here in the Old North Church - oh. Sorry, General, didn’t mean to interrupt.

Holmes: ( _amused_ ) It’s alright. I thought you’d appreciate the Railroad’s choice of headquarters.

Preston: I was pretty impressed, I’ll admit. I had no idea those crypts were under here, and the Railroad has more resources than I realized.

Deacon: ( _distant_ ) Yeah, we’re pretty amazing.

( _shuffle of movement - Preston was startled_ )

Holmes: Hello, Deacon.

Deacon: Detective. Nick, you old dog, good to see you.

Valentine: How’s business?

Deacon: Oh, you know me, it’s all macramé and canasta.

Holmes: Deacon, this is Preston Garvey of the Minutemen.

Deacon. An honest to goodness Minuteman. And here’s me without my autograph book.

Holmes: ( _not quite scolding_ ) Deacon.

Preston: It’s not like I’ve never heard people being dismissive of the Minutemen, General.

Deacon: Speaking of Generals and plans and all that fun stuff - Boss, what the hell happened?! You were in perfect position, and now the Brotherhood has their weapon and the Institute’s locked up tight!

Holmes: What happened is I decided not to let the Institute activate a nuclear reactor.

Deacon: ( _pause_ ) Yeah, ok, I can see how you might think that would be a bad thing. But the Brotherhood?!

Holmes: Would you have known a beryllium agitator was the missing component to the power source of a giant war robot?

Deacon: Well, yeah. That’s like the first thing they teach you in spy school.

Preston: Is he always like this?

Valentine: Sarcastic wise-ass? Yep. But don’t be fooled by the pathological lying and ridiculous get-ups, Deacon’s one of the Railroad’s best agents.

Deacon: Hey! Wait. I mean thanks?

Holmes: The Institute is still going to be destroyed. We’re on our way to discuss plans with the man who found a way in.

Deacon: ( _sigh_ ) Look, the Railroad uses a lot of agents who don’t really care about what happens to the synths. Not ideal, but we can’t afford to turn away the help, no matter why they want to do it. I’m betting the Minutemen are the same way. Saving the Commonwealth, yadda yadda, but a lot of people have a lot of reasons to hate synths, just because they’re from the Institute. What’s going to happen when a whole lot of scared and panicked synths suddenly show up in the world? The Railroad will be there to help them, as much as we can, but are you going to vouch for the behavior of all your civilian soldiers?

Holmes: I can’t control what every Minuteman does. I can, however, assure you that synths are as much a part of the Commonwealth in my view as anyone else.

Deacon: I know your view, Detective. I’m more concerned with his.

Preston: … I never really thought of synths that way before. Never thought about them much at all, really. ( _slowly reasoning it out_ ) But, if they’re people as far as anyone can tell, then… it’s hard to argue that they don’t deserve freedom like everyone else.

( _silence_ )

Holmes: Don’t tell me you’re speechless.

Deacon: I am temporarily withholding judgement on this new Minutemen thing you’re building. Now where the hell is the guy who knows how to get into the Institute?

Holmes: Sanctuary.

Deacon: Man, that’s like… all the way over there! Ish. No, wait, northwest, that’s over there.

Preston: You’re coming?

Deacon: I mean, I could just spy on you the whole way, have agents feed info all the way back to HQ through the regular channels, but I’ll admit, I kinda miss having a human meat shield.

 

**Entry 115**

Valentine, Preston, Deacon, and I arrived in Sanctuary in good time. From across the bridge, we were greeted by what I found an encouraging sight; an armored sentinel on patrol. Preston was not enthused, asking what the Paladin from a couple months ago was doing here, triggering a sarcastic comment on the Brotherhood from Deacon, which I swiftly put an end to by revealing Danse is a synth. They were both held speechless for a brief moment, permitting me to quickly summarize how he came to be here. Preston asked the logical question; how could he not know? Deacon said, and I quote, “Damn, I don’t know if that’s funny or not.” Further explanations were forestalled by the man in question meeting us as we entered the settlement. Danse welcomed me back, and I made introductions. Preston was polite, Deacon uncharacteristically quiet, and Danse kept any patronizing commentary or disdain he may have felt firmly buried, though he did eye Deacon suspiciously. I can’t say I blame him.

The lot of us found Sturges and gathered in what used to be my living room to hear his plan. It’s still surreal, this place looking like this, when I can remember so clearly… … Sturges found a map of the entire Institute complex, including the older sections that used to be a part of C.I.T. Apparently, an old pipe that runs to the river is still in use, bringing cooling water to their reactor. All I need do is swim through irradiated water, survive the security measures I’m certain the Institute will have put in place as well as whatever wildlife might be living there, access the main Relay control, and teleport everyone else inside. Then we fight our way through the Institute all the way to the reactor room, set an explosive, and teleport out of there before blowing the entire complex to kingdom come. ( _sarcastic_ ) Elementary.

Danse assured me he’d gone over the maps with Sturges and complimented the engineer’s thoroughness. There simply isn’t an alternative with the information and resources available to us. Deacon left almost immediately to get the Railroad in position to pick up the pieces. Preston is contacting Radio Freedom, assembling the troops as I speak. Valentine is gathering ammunition and other supplies for us. I’ve asked Danse to stay behind, because I need someone I can rely on to finish what we start. If we fail, he’ll send word to Haylen, perhaps the Brotherhood can finish the job with Liberty Prime. He will contact Ms. Ronnie Shaw at the Castle to let her know the Minutemen have lost their General, yet again. Most importantly, Danse has given me his word that he will protect the people here with his life. Sturges, Marcy and Jun, even Mama Murphy… helping them when I got out of the Vault kept me sane. I owe them more than they know. If we fail and the Institute retaliates, at least I know Danse will give a hell of a fight.

Having a mission seems to have helped him. Danse spent his life following a plan for a future within the Brotherhood, and now that it’s gone, he doesn’t know what to do. He described himself as “a machine that thinks like a human who was trained to hunt the very thing I’ve become.” He feels lost, and quite frankly he’s scared. He needs a purpose in life, something for him to focus on as he tries to come to terms with himself. I have one in mind that would suit him, I think, but it all hinges on our successful return.


	26. War

**Entry 116**

( _recording starts suddenly, water splashing and feral ghouls screeching_ )

( _rapid gunfire_ )

Valentine: Gah! Gonna take a while to put that back together - oof!

Holmes: Valentine!

( _gunfire_ )

( _feral hiss_ )

Holmes: Tell me you’re alright!

Valentine: ( _grunt of effort_ ) I’m fine, just kill it!

( _reload, gunshot_ )

( _Geiger counter clicking, something hits_ )

Holmes: Aagh!

( _gunshot_ )

( _screech_ )

( _gunshot_ )

( _water splashing_ )

Holmes: Nick? Are you hurt?

Valentine: Give me a minute. Have to get this part back in place.

Holmes: How can I help?

Valentine: You just make sure no more particularly foul glowing ferals come out of the brickwork. Damn. Don’t suppose you could hold that - thanks.

( _quiet, fast running water in the distance_ )

Valentine: There we are. ( _water sloshing_ ) You know, I’m not the queasy sort, but for this I’ll make an exception.

 

**Entry 117**

( _battle - gunfire and laser fire, human shouts of pain mingled with robotic warnings_ )

Holmes: Damn - ( _hiss of stimpak injection_ )

Valentine: ( _nearby, angry_ ) Your funeral!

( _thwack of metal, crackling electricity_ )

Preston: ( _distant_ ) Hold your fire! Let the scientists run unless they shoot at you first!

Sturges: ( _over a PA system_ ) Hey there, General. Found the reactor… looks like you need to get yourself to the Advanced Systems area. Only, well, it’s locked. I can’t override it from here; looks like the command can only come from the Director’s personal terminal. You’re gonna need to get access to it somehow.

Valentine: Don’t suppose there’s a chance he’d have left by now?

Holmes: ( _sigh_ ) There isn’t a chance he’d even try to leave. ( _louder_ ) Preston, stay on this level until I return.

Preston: ( _distant_ ) Yes, sir.

( _elevator hum_ )

…

( _soft swish of an automatic door_ )

Holmes: ( _softly_ ) Stay here, Nick.

…

The Director: ( _old, tired_ ) Well. I didn’t expect to see you again. ( _bitter_ ) Come to see the reactor, have you? We got it working without you.

Holmes: ( _somber_ ) And now I’m going to destroy it, and the Institute.

The Director: At least there’s no need for guessing games. Tell me, under what righteous pretense have you justified this atrocity?

Holmes: All the enemies you’ve created, and you can’t imagine why I’m standing here?

The Director: Perhaps I didn’t think to count you among them.

Holmes: You didn’t think. ( _irritated_ ) This was doomed from the start, and you couldn’t see it, because you refused to observe all the facts. I told you flat out that I wanted nothing to do with leading the Institute. You dismissed my protest. I tried to tell you that life on the surface was still a life worth fighting for, and you wouldn’t even consider the idea. The Institute should have been the savior of the world, but instead it’s the monster hiding in the shadows. You claim to be misunderstood, when it is you who misunderstands. The Commonwealth has identified the Institute all too well - the hidden force capable and willing to do whatever it takes to get what you want, no matter who has to suffer for it, no matter what collateral damage may be caused. The Institute’s policies exist on the philosophy of the end justifying the means… and that is something I can never agree to. What good is perfection if it lacks compassion?

The Director: And is this compassion? The destruction of that perfection?

Holmes: This is as far from compassion as I can imagine. This is war. War never changes. It’s never just. Innocents die. You can help me minimize that.

The Director: What?

Holmes: I promise to protect any survivors to the best of my ability. I did not come here to commit mass murder. Help me help your people survive. Please… Shaun.

…

The Director: ( _so tired_ ) Very well. The terminal behind me… Enter access code 9003. That will disable some of the synths. Now go. Just… leave me.

( _clicking of computer keys, beep of a command entered. Evacuation notice sounds distantly. Another set of clicks, a pause, another set of clicks_ )

Sturges: ( _over the PA system_ ) All right, good job! Looks like that’s opened things up enough for you to reach the reactor.

( _rushed movement, feet on stairs_ )

Some other good news: I’ve almost got the teleporter working. Should be ready to pull you out whenever you need.

( _elevator door closes_ )

( _shuddering breath_ )

Valentine: You did good. Now let’s finish this.

 

**Entry 118**

.  
s̡͍̜͈̠̩̹̊̅̄̾̊̄z̵̨̡̧͙͉̟͕̜͇͑̿̐̒̋͢͠z̷̜̙̖̹̯̝̘̼̳͇̈́̽͆̎̽̐̓̂͝Z̭̺̳̰̳̭͇̻̺̺͋͆̓̇͘͝ị̴̧̨͇͈̮̣̳͆̽̅͘S͉͉̪̰̱͆̓̑̈̇̅͜͡s̨̢̼̹̲̳̻̓̄̽̉͂͐͛̓̈́͜ͅḩ̶͖̖̞͚͓͈̼̲͊̓͛̈́̒͗̾̃̄͢͝ẅ̬̣̣̖̈́̎͐̊͑͢ͅ  
.

Preston: All right, Sturges, we’re done. Get us the hell out of here.

Sturges: I would, man, but… this kid showed up. Says he’s the General’s son.

Holmes: … Shaun?

Synth Shaun: Please, Dad, don’t leave me here! I want to go with you!

Holmes: ( _startled, confused_ ) Why did you call me ‘Dad?’

Shaun: What? You’re my father! Why else would I call you that?

Holmes: ( _suspicious, panicked_ ) Who told you I’m your father?

Shaun: ( _worried_ ) What do you mean? Nobody told me, you just are.

Holmes: … ( _unsteady_ ) Yes. Of course I am.

Shaun: ( _relieved_ ) Good. For a second, I thought you forgot who I was.

Holmes: I… … come with me, Shaun.

Shaun: ( _excited_ ) Really? Do you mean it?

Holmes: ( _surprised - what did I do wrong?_ ) You don’t believe me?

Shaun: No, no, I totally do! What I meant is, thanks. Now let’s get out of here!

Holmes: Sturges? You heard him.

Sturges: Loud and clear, General. I’m sending you to the detonation site, then set the relay to shoot the kid here back home - I’ll get him a change of clothes and look after him. You press that button extra hard when you get there. See you on the other side…

 

**Entry 119**

.  
s̡͍̜͈̠̩̹̊̅̄̾̊̄z̵̨̡̧͙͉̟͕̜͇͑̿̐̒̋͢͠z̷̜̙̖̹̯̝̘̼̳͇̈́̽͆̎̽̐̓̂͝Z̭̺̳̰̳̭͇̻̺̺͋͆̓̇͘͝ị̴̧̨͇͈̮̣̳͆̽̅͘S͉͉̪̰̱͆̓̑̈̇̅͜͡s̨̢̼̹̲̳̻̓̄̽̉͂͐͛̓̈́͜ͅḩ̶͖̖̞͚͓͈̼̲͊̓͛̈́̒͗̾̃̄͢͝ẅ̬̣̣̖̈́̎͐̊͑͢ͅ  
.

Preston: Here’s the detonator. Sturges figured this was a safe distance outside the blast radius. Whenever you want to see “humanity’s best hope for the future” go up in smoke, just hit that button.

…

( _click_ )

**[EXPLOSION]**

( _falling rubble in the distance_ )

…

Preston: Holy shit… That was one hell of a bang. So that’s it. The Institute is destroyed, it’s finally over. You did issue the evacuation order, right? I didn’t notice in all the chaos.

Holmes: Yes. We gave everyone a chance to get out.

Preston: Good. I thought so. It was just… watching that explosion… I just hope as many people as possible got out. I hate that we had to do that, but it was war. But now the war against the Institute is over. The way’s now clear for the Commonwealth to finally come together and build something good for the future. But it’s not all sunshine and rainbows from here on out. The Institute kept the Commonwealth divided for centuries, but there are plenty of other problems left to deal with. I don’t think the Minutemen are going to be out of a job for a long time yet, as much as I might wish it. We deserve to enjoy our victory, but soon enough, it’s going to be time to get back to work.

Holmes: ( _sighs; the sound of Preston talking to the other Minutemen fades_ )

Valentine: And the people of the Commonwealth slept soundly, for the greatest monster was gone. It took a lotta guts to push that button. I know it couldn’t have been easy.

Holmes: It had to be done.

Valentine: You’ll get no argument from me. It’s hard to even wrap your head around - a world without the Institute, lurking in the shadows. But that’s life the people of the Commonwealth will get to lead now. All thanks to you.

Holmes: I didn’t do it alone.

Valentine: Sure, sure. But we both know, without you, none of this would’ve ever been possible.

Holmes: How are you doing with all of this?

Valentine: Well, there were a lot of questions I was hoping the Institute could answer, but I’ve already made it this far without ‘em. I think I’ll manage. This is a brave new world you’ve ushered in. But I suppose it’ll do.

Holmes: ( _humored_ ) I suppose.


	27. Home

**Entry 120**

We stopped by the Railroad Headquarters on our way back to Sanctuary. We learned some of the synths fleeing the Institute were murdered by civilians, but most of them are safe. The Railroad’s safe houses are overflowing. Desdemona was grateful. The Railroad is going to be busy for some time, smuggling synths out of the Commonwealth and giving them new lives away from all the hatred they might have to deal with. I hope the ones who choose that path live long, happy lives. I also hope a great many decide to stay and try to make something new in the Commonwealth.

Deacon said I’ve earned a lifetime of vacations. Normally, the idea of being idle would be repulsive, but… perhaps, just this once, I may make an exception.

Valentine: ( _distant_ ) Do you a world of good. Not to mention the chance to have some time with your son.

Holmes: My… what was I thinking, I can’t -

Valentine: Hey. ( _closer_ ) I don’t understand how or why, but that boy thinks he’s your son.

Holmes: He’s a synth. A perfect duplicate of Shaun, constructed to be ten years old.

Valentine: Well. I can see how that would be troubling, with everything that happened. But you did right by him, you saved his life. And, you told him you were his father.

Holmes: I’d just finished condemning my son to death if his failing health didn’t kill him first. I was emotional and…

Valentine: Come on. Let’s go meet him properly this time. You’re going to take one look at him, and there won’t be any doubt in your mind.

 

**Entry 121**

We arrived at Sanctuary last night. Everyone congratulated us. The child - Shaun - was happy to see me. Sturges had been as good as his word, watching after him. Codsworth was beside himself to see how Shaun had grown. I didn’t correct him. Apart from Valentine and myself, Danse is the only one who knows Shaun is a synth, independently making the connections from what I’d already told him. He’s promised to keep the knowledge to himself.

Shaun gave me a tape that the Director of the Institute gave him. He didn’t know what was on it but said that it was important. I listened to it. He programmed Shaun to believe he is my son. Shaun remembers the Institute, viewing the scientists there with fondness, as if they were family, but he believes himself to be a perfectly human boy. Why? Did the old man hope to, in a way, have the childhood he might have had? A sort of immortality by proxy? To be a family… damn it, it doesn’t matter now. The man who died is gone. He and that boy may be genetically identical, but that is where the similarity ends. On the tape, he said there is no reason to expect me to fulfill his wish to give the boy a home, yet he felt compelled to try. ( _frustrated, sad_ ) How could I turn the boy away? But then, he never understood me at all. He never really tried.

I spoke to Preston early this morning. The troops at the Castle can get along just fine without him for now. Ms. Shaw has taken to the renewal of the cause like a fish to water. That being the case, I’ve asked Preston to stay in Sanctuary to oversee the training of the new recruits. Some trees may have to be cleared, but there’s space for it. Basic training will be done in Sanctuary, before sending them on to the Castle for specialized training and actual assignments. It could all be done at the Castle I suppose, but Danse would prefer to be as far away from the Prydwen as possible for now.

The look on Preston’s face when I told him I wanted Danse to train the Minutemen was priceless. Danse’s expression when I presented my proposal was even better. There is no person more qualified. Preston can’t do everything by himself. The simple fact is that I can make a command decision based on logic and data, but I haven’t the first notion of how to run an army. Preston spent most of his life in the ranks of the Minutemen, and Danse spent his with the Brotherhood. I am perfectly confident in both of their abilities to lead, and to work together without murdering each other. The new Minutemen need a regimen of discipline, combined with a large amount of compassion. Between Colonel Garvey and Lieutenant Colonel Danse, I think that can be achieved.

 

**Entry 122**

( _wind, crunch of leaves and gravel_ )

This is my last tape. Quite literally, I’ve run out of them and have no desire to scour the Commonwealth for more. I suppose the timing is fitting. I’ve decided to let it run.

( _creak of metal, sudden whirr of large machinery moving_ )

Valentine: A Vault? Ah. You’re not planning on refreezing, are you?

Holmes: Not today.

Valentine: … All kidding aside, are you sure you want to go in there?

Holmes: It’s fine. There’s something I have to do. It’s something I should have done a long time ago.

Valentine: ( _uncertain_ ) If you say so.

( _hollow footsteps; the sound of a slow drip of water gets louder_ )

Valentine: Now, that’s not… oh. ( _devastated_ ) Oh, I’m so sorry.

( _drip_ )

( _drip_ )

Holmes: … Hello. ( _a breath; quiet, calm_ ) I feel ridiculous. This should have been done ages ago, but I couldn’t. Even now… I found him. Our son. He’s… … he’s ten. The organization that stole him is destroyed. Your murderer is dead. I’ve done what I set out to do, and accomplished things I never imagined would happen. I had help. You’d be proud, I made a friend, an unusual feat for me. I’ve made a few, actually, but one in particular. You’d like him. It’s rare to find someone on whom I can thoroughly rely. … … I miss you. So very much. But… the nightmares have stopped.

…

( _slight clearing of his throat_ ) I need your help, Nick. She’s been here long enough.

Valentine: ( _quiet_ ) Whatever you need.

( _Brief muffling, something positioned in Holmes’s arms against the Pip-Boy. Slow progress of hollow footsteps. Mechanical whirring of heavy machinery. Steps._ )

Valentine: You take it easy, I’ll see to it. I figure she’s been underground long enough.

Holmes: ( _grateful_ ) You anticipate my every need.

( _Stone and metal moved, rustle of branches, brush and wood stacked together. This goes on for some time._ )

Valentine: That should do it.

( _Crunch of branches. Match strikes._ )

( _Fire starts. Nearly all of the remaining tape is the crackling sound of fire._ )

( _The sound of fire fades to the sound of footsteps; clink of a lighter, strike of a match. Exhale._ )

Holmes: ( _quiet wonder_ ) Where did you learn to build a pyre?

Valentine: Knew some folks once who didn’t much care for the idea of burial. Too many things crawling under the ground.

( _someone hammers in the distance_ )

Valentine: Have to say, the Minutemen have done a hell of a job with this place. Think it’ll ever be home to you again?

Holmes: No. This will always be a Sanctuary, but my Sanctuary Hills are long gone. I think I’m finally at peace with that.

Valentine: I’m glad to hear it. ( _pause_ ) You know, I’ve been away from the office for a while. Thought I might head back that way, if you’d like to come along.

Holmes: Do you want me to?

Valentine: ( _amused_ ) I think I could suffer through it. Besides, Ellie’s been itching for me to take on a partner.

Holmes: Tempting. ( _wry humor_ ) Two great detectives, in one agency?

Valentine: Every scumbag in the Commonwealth is gonna know our names.

( _distant shout of a child - “Dad!”_ )

( _running feet; soft thump of impact_ )

Holmes: ( _softly_ ) Hello, son.

( _click_ )

* * *

  


This is the last recording found for Mr. Holmes. Two weeks after this was recorded, first person accounts of his activities started appearing in the Diamond City newspaper, Publick Occurrences. Our archivists are collecting them for public viewing.

Thank you for listening.


End file.
